At the Edge
by SleepingRory
Summary: Instead of writing a letter, Sasha decides to say goodbye to Payson in person. At least, that was the plan. Post 2x10.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I began this fic back in 2012 but it turned into a much bigger project than I could handle at the time. Four years later and I felt ready to tackle it again. It's now pretty much finished. I will be aiming to post two chapters every Tuesday and Thursday. I would love to hear what you all think of it.

This picks up right after episode 2x10 and goes au after that.

Dedicated to JCI; this story would not exist without her.

 **CHAPTER ONE**

Sasha leaves Boulder the same way he arrived: suddenly and without warning. After watching Kaylie loaded into an ambulance, Emily forced into a police car, Lauren falter beside the beam weeping for the mother she was never allowed to know, and Payson's reputation sullied by accusations she will never fully escape, Sasha knows staying is not an option. He asked for the girls' trust and has failed to live up to the responsibility the request incurred.

This martyr's guilt gets Sasha thirty minutes down the highway, truck and trailer rumbling west toward the refuge of his neglected Californian cabin. Then he makes the mistake of switching on the stereo and out blares Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake suite. The Airstream sends stones spraying as he pulls it up on the side of the road, flicking off the ignition but leaving the music playing. The string section stirs in a rousing crescendo.

He planned to email Payson later, congratulate her on making the World team, explain that his actions are for her own good. Sasha smacks his palm against the steering wheel and looks out at the navy dusk settling over the mountain range to the north. What kind of coward doesn't even say goodbye?

With a sweeping arc on the empty highway, Sasha turns the truck back toward Boulder, hits the gas harder than he did on the way out. He will see Payson, explain his actions, say a proper goodbye, then drive through the night and see how many states he can clear. Tchaikovsky plays him back to the city.

After so many years traversing narrow European streets, Sasha has never been so glad that wide sprawling roads are a mainstay of the American suburban dream. He eases the truck and Airstream as close to the sidewalk as he can get and, as he hops out, is relieved to see that two cars can still slot past. Just about.

Becca answers the bell, her bright face morphing from curious to happy to curious again as she pulls the door open, sees it's him, then spots the Airstream looming impossibly large under the street lights.

"Yeah, your neighbours probably aren't going to be too happy." Sasha ducks his head slightly, a gesture he's learned from constant contact with people shorter than himself.

Becca, sniggering, glances around then hiss-whispers, "don't sweat it, they already don't like us. Mom was gardening and she kind of chopped down one of their trees by mistake."

Sasha huffs a laugh which makes Becca giggle even more as she enjoys the conspiracy. He's not entirely sure how you accidentally chop down a tree but, knowing Kim Keeler's exuberance when she gets caught up in a task, he's not entirely surprised. Slightly scared maybe, but not surprised.

"Why is your house parked in our street anyway?" Becca frowns as she steps aside and waves a hand which, Sasha assumes, is invitation to come in.

"I thought Ellen Beals might get it towed," Sasha says, walking down the corridor towards the living room, hands in his pockets. It's not a total lie. "Or blow it up with an RPG." Again, a distant - but not at all implausible - possibility.

"What's an RPG?" Becca trots after Sasha. As they round the corner into the open plan living room and kitchen, it's Kim Keeler, standing up from the couch, who answers her daughter.

"Rocket propelled grenade." Kim nods a hello at Sasha, apparently unsurprised to see him, then says, "speaking of RPGs: Payson!" Following the holler, Kim gestures for both Sasha and Becca to follow her to the counter. "Did I hear something about you making a trailer park out of our street?"

Sasha huffs a laugh at the ground, then looks up at Kim and nods. "Temporarily."

"Uh huh," Kim says, suspicious but choosing to ignore that particular reality for now. "Mark had to catch a flight; you just missed him actually," she continues, answering Sasha's unspoken question. "Payson!" she hollers again.

A door slams at hinge-breaking volume and Payson spills into the room, still clad in her new national team jacket.

"What?" Payson snaps, cell phone in hand. "I'm trying to call...Sasha, you're here." She suddenly spots him leaning against the sink and hurries across the tiles, her face lightening. "Where'd you go? I couldn't find you after they announced the team. Did you see Kaylie?"

Kim steps in as Sasha flounders between choosing a lie or coming clean. "Actually, I just spoke to Summer about Kaylie." Kim holds up her own cell. Her eyes glance at Sasha and quickly look away; she continues like she doesn't see his discomfort at the mention of Summer's name. "Kaylie's going to be fine. The hospital is keeping her in for observation but she's going to be ok."

Becca sighs happily and nestles into her mom's side. Payson, standing by the fridge on the other side of the kitchen, frowns. "Did she say why Kaylie collapsed?"

Kim runs a hand over Becca's hair. "Bec, I'm thinking we all deserve pizza tonight. Can you go dig out the menus? They're on the dresser."

Becca side-glances round the room. "Su-re," she says, flicking suspicious looks over her shoulder as she leaves.

Kim smiles until Becca is gone, then braces the countertop behind her with both hands. "Exhaustion and dehydration is what Summer said."

"And malnutrition?" Sasha looks Kim directly on and she nods slowly, Sasha's words and expression confirming her own suspicions.

All the fight seems to run out of Payson. She looks at the floor, then between Kim and Sasha, her bright eyes dulling as she realises the insinuation behind those particular symptoms. Blankly, she fiddles with one of the fridge magnets. "And Emily?"

Kim scrubs a hand across her face. "She must have at least one supporter at the NGO because apparently they've sorted a lawyer for her. Summer hasn't got any more details at the moment but she said she'll keep us in the loop."

There are no televisions on in the house, no radio, no music. The room is silent apart from the echoes of Becca rifling round for pizza menus and Payson flicking at the fridge magnet.

"Sweetie," Kim says, going over to her daughter and pulling her into a hug that's not reciprocated. "Why don't you go and wash your hair and change. Pizza will be here when you're done."

Payson nods into her mom's shoulder, arms hanging limply at her sides. It pains Sasha to see her so inanimate, this fireball of a girl so torn up with emotion that she's pushing it away entirely. Her pace is slow as she makes her way to her bedroom. Sasha tracks her until the door closes, then stares at it until Kim speaks again.

"You knew about Kaylie?" She's looking at her daughter's bedroom door too.

Sasha sighs. "I was worried. I spoke to her about it but she denied everything. Spoke to her parents but the scales said she hadn't lost any weight, so..." He trails off and swallows.

"Scales can be fooled. It's a gym mom's worst nightmare." Kim offers a wan smile. "It's not your fault."

Sasha pushes off the sideboard and looks away, not accepting Kim's absolution. "You got those menus, Becca?" he calls. He almost adds 'we're starving in here' but pulls it back just in time.

After Becca has bounced in requesting coke and garlic bread to go with her pizza and bounced away again with Sasha and her mom's orders in search of a phone, Kim and Sasha sit down at the kitchen table.

Streetlights stroke through the half-open blinds, painting the table in yellow stripes. Kim flicks on the spotlights above the table and washes them away. "So," she starts, "you going somewhere?" There is both warmth and warning in her tone.

Sasha doesn't bother formulating an excuse as to why he's got the Airstream parked out front. "I'm not convinced I'm what Payson needs right now," he says. He means as a coach but his words suggest a broader scope that is probably more accurate.

"You were earlier this week," Kim counters.

Sasha scratches his stubble. "Payson's made the national team now, the situation's changed. After today..." he pauses, the shadows of the other girls falling around him. "After today, I think Payson needs to make a fresh start. She can't do that with me still in Boulder."

"So this is goodbye?" Kim tips her head to one side and studies him.

Sasha shifts in his seat. "I think it has to be."

"Why?" Kim asks him softly, one hand lightly drumming on the table top.

The coach and the mother contemplate each other across the table. A horn blares from the road, a likely objection to Sasha's temporary trailer park.

"Because of me, Payson will be tainted by gossip for the rest of her career. If I leave now it at least gives her an opportunity to distance herself as much as she can from me and get back into the good graces of the NGO," Sasha says, voicing the argument he's had playing in his head for weeks. "Besides, she needs to train at the Rock and I somehow doubt they're going to be welcoming me back with open arms anytime soon."

"Ok," Kim starts, sitting back in her chair, "putting aside the fact that once Steve Tanner gets over his ego and realises he can't pull another world-class coach out of his ass he'll be begging you to come back, do you honestly think Payson gives a damn about gossip?"

"She will when it affects the NGO's opinion of her," Sasha shoots back.

"The NGO's opinion of her seemed pretty great this afternoon when they put her on the Worlds team."

Pushing out a breath through his nose, Sasha looks away. This is not the simple 'I'm sorry, goodbye' he had planned.

"I think you're giving Ellen Beals far too much credit for the influence she has, Sasha. The rest of the board don't share her vendetta against you so I don't see why they would ever penalise Payson." Kim gestures behind her at her daughter's bedroom door.

Sasha pauses. He had a list of arguments describing why leaving was essential when he was gunning it up the interstate; why can't he think of any of them now?

"And what about the other girls?" Kim prompts. "I'm sure they don't want to lose you as coach anymore than Payson does."

That question - at least - Sasha has an answer for.

"I've never been able to reach Lauren," he starts, looking Kim square on. "And for a coach to get the best out of her Lauren needs to feel a connection, a bond. I don't think she'll ever let me in enough for us to be able to have that. Kaylie needs her family right now. She needs to fix herself outside of gymnastics and I can't help her with that. And Emily...I have no idea how to help Emily anymore," he sighs, all the breath leaving his body. That's the failure that probably hurts most.

"Which leaves Payson," Kim says, watching Sasha.

"Which leaves Payson," Sasha repeats.

The water system clanks loudly within the walls, a rasping gurgle. "Old shower," Kim dismisses the rumble with a flyaway hand. "Sasha, if you want to leave because of what happened with Payson, please, just say so. I'll understand: it was a very difficult and very awkward situation for you to be in."

Sasha shakes his head. "No. I mean yes, but no." He presses a thumbnail into a knot in the wooden surface of the table and sighs. "I don't want to hurt her, Kim." He opens his mouth to say more, then realises that there is nothing to add. The simple truth is he's leaving because he's scared of hurting Payson again.

"Can I be honest with you, Sasha?"

Wondering how much more honest this conversation can get, Sasha warily nods.

Kim looks away, her smile turning a little shamed. "There is still a part of me - please don't ask how big - that wishes Payson hadn't had corrective surgery. That way she'd still be in high school, having fun with kids her own age, no pressure. She wouldn't be pushing herself to the limit every day; wouldn't be risking breaking her back again every day."

Blinking, Kim looks back at Sasha, eyes sparkling with tears. "But that's not what my daughter was meant for." Kim sniffs, wipes her eyes harshly and drags her fears back inside. "She was meant to do this. No matter the cost. Payson's a fighter and fighters need a battle. And, as much as Mark and I might wish she'd pick a different one, gymnastics is the battle she's chosen." There is passion in Kim's eyes as she stares right into Sasha. "Sasha, you are the only one I trust _not_ to hurt her; the only one I trust to keep her safe. After today, I'm even more certain of that."

This maternal plea, or perhaps order, hangs in the air. The day's events swirl round the room, invisible but solid. Sasha's pulse quickens. Instinct recognises instinct, and the need to protect Payson is an impulse both these adults share, though Sasha is still unsure why this instinct is so strong for him.

He stands, shoves his hands in his pockets, looks out the window, and tries to get his breathing back under control. Kim, taking the cue, leaves him there, bustles into the kitchen and hollers to her youngest to come set the table or they'll be no garlic bread for anyone. Becca comes running. The drone of talk radio suddenly adds to the clatter of crockery and cutlery and Sasha takes the opportunity to slip out the front door.

A clear day has given way to a clouded night and Sasha can taste the promise of rain as he inhales two large lungfuls of air. There's a stone pillar, half covered with ivy, which supports one side of the Keeler's porch. Sasha lets his head fall back against it, ivy and bricks prickling at his neck. It may not be his Californian cabin, but if he closes his eyes, smells the rain and the plants, he can pretend for a moment he's back in the simplicity of the wilderness.

An extended squeak and then quiet click signals the front door being pulled open then eased gently shut.

"That needs oiling," he says, suspecting whose voice will respond.

"It's our burglar alarm," Payson says.

Sasha, eyes still closed, smiles.

"So," Payson starts, in a tone that make Sasha open his eyes, "you're leaving, then."

Twisting his head sideways, Sasha finds Payson standing on the porch a few feet away. Her hair is hanging loose and has been dyed mousey-brown by water. She's wearing baggy sweatpants and a tank top.

"You'll catch cold," he warns, looking at her hair. Her frown of 'don't change the subject' is illuminated by the porch light she's standing under. Sasha sighs and looks back out at the road to where the Airstream sits. "What makes you think I'm leaving?"

"I don't know, maybe that your truck and everything you own is parked outside my house, or maybe that you look as guilty as Becca does when she steals my eyeliner."

"Maybe that's because I stole your eyeliner?" Sasha offers.

"Not funny," Payson tells him, without amusement.

"I know," Sasha concedes, pushing off the stone pillar and turning to face her, hands still in the pockets of his leather jacket.

"So?" Payson prompts, folding her arms as she steps to stand a foot in front of Sasha. The move takes her out of the yellow cone thrown by the porch light and into the shadows where he's been hiding. Wet tendrils of hair frame her face.

Sasha opens his mouth, closes it, scrubs at his eyes, scrubs at his jaw, opens his mouth again, then gives up entirely and drops to sit on the step at the edge of the porch. After a moment, Payson sits beside him, knees hitched up to her chest, the hems of her too long sweatpants pooling around her ankles. With her fingers, she works the knots out the ends of her hair.

"You deserve better than I can offer you, Payson," Sasha says finally, elbows on his knees, staring at his boot laces which are starting to come undone.

"Isn't that up to me?" she shoots back, calmly fierce.

Sasha starts to speak.

"And if you tell me you're doing this for my own good and that one day I'll understand, I will hit you over the head with that flowerpot." Payson points at a particularly large stone tub sitting at the edge of the path.

Sasha huffs a laugh. The thing must weigh two hundred pounds. "Is that right?"

"Yes," she says, punctuating the affirmation with a sharp nod. Sasha feels some dislodged water droplets spatter his cheek. He leaves them there.

A car whips down the road and veers to avoid the Airstream so fast that Sasha flinches in preparation for the scrape of metal on metal that's sure to come screeching through the dark. But the night remains quiet, just a slight throb of music that flares and disappears. The porch step is narrow. Sasha feels Payson's arm brush against his. He has no idea what the right thing to do is anymore.

"How long have you known about Kaylie?" Payson asks, voice thin.

Sasha looks across at her. She's picking at the calluses on her fingers and still staring at the potential weapon of a flowerpot.

"I've been concerned for a while," he admits, frowning down at his shoes, untying and then slowly re-tying the laces.

"I had no idea." Payson's voice is hollow, a catch in her throat.

Sasha puts a hand on her shoulder without thinking. He gives a slight squeeze then releases it awkwardly. Payson sniffs, steadies herself.

"I know you're planning on leaving now but Dad says Pike's is rented until the end of the month. Maybe...maybe we could train until that time's up and then..."

Sasha tips his eyes to the sky. He was expecting tantrums and instead Payson's about to give him alternatives. Maybe she's more mature than he gives her credit for.

"And then, I don't know, depending on how things go, maybe we could..." Payson pauses again. Sasha can feel her gaze on his profile. She's offering a compromise, how can he throw that back in her face?

"Re-evaluate?" Sasha concludes, twisting his head slowly to meet Payson's eye line.

Her eyes spark and a memory of the joy he feels when they're training together, working toward the Olympic dream, flickers through Sasha's mind.

"And if you still want to leave then," Payson says hurriedly, sitting up straighter, "that's your decision. I promise I'll respect it."

The cabin's been empty for a year, another month isn't going to hurt it, and the Airstream will be just as happy in a trailer park as she has been in a parking lot. Sasha frowns out at the street, concentrating on the practical because he's sure as hell had enough of the emotional today.

"A month." Sasha confirms it with a nod.

When Payson spits on her palm and sticks her hand out, grin relieved and beautiful and determined, the protectiveness Sasha's inexplicably felt for this girl since she seemed so shocked he knew her name the day they met spikes another notch.

 _The places life can take you_ , he thinks.

With a deliberately cocky smirk, Sasha loudly spits in his own hand – Payson's nose wrinkles as she laughs – and grips Payson's to seal the handshake.

"Deal?" Payson says.

"Deal."

"Er, did you guys, like, order pizza?" A drawl interrupts the moment. They both look up to see a teenager in a Pizza Shack uniform hovering on the lawn, pizza boxes stack in his arms, bottles of coke balanced precariously on top.

"We sure did," Sasha says, helping Payson to her feet then fishing in his jacket for his wallet.

Displaying impressive hearing range, Becca bundles out the front door, whoops of joy sounding over the telltale squeak.

"Don't shove," Payson rebukes her little sister, taking charge and dividing the boxes and bottles between them, the pizza guy happy to hand it all over and get his tip.

"I'm not shoving, I'm helping," Becca squawks.

"Of course you are," Payson says, dourly, as Becca trots into the house. A thud indicates one of the soda bottles didn't survive the journey to the kitchen undented. Payson rolls her eyes affectionately.

Handing over what seems an exorbitant amount of money for pizza, scowl daring the boy to question the size of the tip, Sasha repockets his wallet. The kid scurries back to his van.

"Sasha?"

Sasha turns, finds Payson standing on the threshold. "Thank you." She's haloed by the lights from the hallway, blonde hair shining, eyes sparkling.

Sasha pretends to miss her true meaning, giving her a carefree shrug. "Next time, you're buying."

Payson shakes her head with affectionate annoyance. "Ha ha." She pushes her way into the house, pizza boxes balanced on her hip.

When a drop of water bounces off Sasha's nose he automatically looks up. The night sky is starting to fall. He stands out on the lawn as the rain turns from trickle to torrent, watches it roll down his leather jacket, feels it patter on his head, wonders if he'd have made the state line by now; then, like a dog, he gives his hair a good shake and jogs back onto the porch, answering Becca's shout of "hurry up, Coach, it's getting cold!"


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

Pike's Gym is on fourth, a converted warehouse wedged between a hardware depot and a block of storage units. It's not in the most salubrious of locations – there's a reason Sasha won't let Payson leave by herself when they've had an evening practice – but Payson finds the old gym more endearing than inferior: the worn but scrupulously maintained equipment; the scratched graffiti on the lockers commemorating years before she was born; the shadows that blur the corners the lights don't quite reach after sundown. Two years ago, she would have scorned trading the gleaming Rock for a training facility long past its heyday; now, she finds the faded posters and puckered tiles in the vaulted ceiling sort of comforting. Perfection is not a concept she can relate to anymore, not with a back marred by scars.

Payson drops her arms from the dismount salute, brushes her hands together to dislodge some of the hardened chalk and blows the air out of her cheeks. "I swear this used to be easier."

It's a few days after World trials and Payson is trying to ignore the voice in her head jeering that with every mistake she makes, she's surely reinforcing Sasha's decision to leave at the end of the month.

Sasha's sitting at the side of the mat in a chair he found discarded in the loading bay of the hardware depot the first day they arrived at Pike's. Nursing a mug of tea, he makes a circular motion with one finger as he takes a large gulp.

"Does that mean do it again?" Payson glares.

Sasha nods as he swallows. "And square your shoulders."

Looking back at the four and a half inch piece of wood that's proving to be the bane of her existence today, Payson kneels back onto it, stands, executes a single spin, pauses, completes a double spin, breathes deep, then attempts the triple version. The first two revolutions she manages - if a little shakily - but the the third twirls her entirely off balance and she connects with the floor ass first. Slapping the mat half-heartedly and pushing herself back to standing, Payson sighs again. "Definitely used to be easier," she concludes, turning to the beam and running a finger along the beige suede covering.

"Payson," Sasha summons her attention, which she gives, turning round, hands propped either side of her waist against the beam, balancing on one foot as she lets the wood hold her weight. She's expecting to see his angry Sergeant Major Coach face glaring at her, telling her to do it again and quit complaining; instead, he looks almost bemused. "Major back surgery, remember?"

"I can't use that as excuse." Her face scrunches in disgust at herself. Maybe they should be training more? They have to share the facility with a couple of other athletes, maybe they should see if some of them would trade slots?

Sasha is shaking his head in bewilderment. Payson does not appreciate being laughed at.

"It's not funny," she snaps.

"I never said it was," he tells her, remaining patient. "Payson, your progress these past months has been incredible. Your artistry has developed beyond measure. There's no need to panic; you will get this by Worlds, I promise."

"I'm not panicking," Payson retorts, grumpily. "I'm just," she searches for the right adjective, "annoyed."

"Uh huh," Sasha says, standing up. As he does, the old metal chair groans and paint flakes flick into the atmosphere, adding to the spatter of white already littering the floor. He yawns and wipes the flakes off his jeans with obnoxious disregard for the fact he's sending them flying in Payson's direction.

"Seriously?" Payson raises her eyebrows at the piece of furniture she considers a health hazard.

Sasha shrugs, apparently confused by her warning tone. "It's comfy."

"It's rusty," Payson shoots back, hands dropping to her hips.

"It's vintage."

"It's trash!"

"This is accruing value even as it sits here." Sasha taps the arm and more paint flakes away onto his hand.

"It's accruing _mold_ even as it sits there," Payson snaps.

"I don't think metal grows mold." Sasha's full on smirking, arms folded across his chest.

"Luckily for you, I don't have a flower pot with me right now," Payson warns, referring to the lawn ornament she threatened to pummel him with two nights ago.

"Why, you planning to garden me to death?"

The roll of support tape connects with Sasha's shoulder; not a direct hit but Payson's satisfied with her throw. "You are not funny," she tells him as he pretends to be outraged. Her heart is pulsing hard.

"Uh huh," Sasha says again as he flops down into his chair with an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction at its apparent comfort and scoops up his mug.

Adrenaline racing, Payson shoots one final glare at her coach, then climbs back on the beam. She grits her teeth, steadies her feet, raises her arms, then, on the out breath, lifts her right knee and twists into a spin, bringing her arms together over her head in ballet position. Her body reacts with the a three revolution pirouette. When her right foot connects solidly with the beam, pride bursts across her face.

From his chair, Sasha looks up at her over the rim of his mug, entirely innocent. "See? Told you not to panic."

"Shut up," Payson tells him, her smile still shining.

* * *

Training session bleeds into training session and far sooner than is welcome a week has elapsed since World trials. Payson feels a pang of dismay as she calculates there are only two and a half weeks left on her agreement with Pikes' - and with Sasha. This evening's task is not exactly providing reassurance of his intentions.

"So, I've mapped out each Worlds routine and the possible upgrades for London. I know you know these things back to front but it'll save you having to explain everything to a new coach." Sasha is flipping through a ring binder full of his chicken-scratch writing and annotated diagrams.

They're been sitting alone at the kitchen island since they got back from practice, Sasha mostly doing the talking, Payson trying to read any hint on his face of how this planning to hand her over to a new coach is affecting him.

"Makes sense," she nods, keeping her tone as professionally detached as his, or at least trying to.

"It's important they realise everything is mapped out so you can peak at the Olympics, not in Rio, and how much it would hurt you if they forced upgrades at this point," Sasha frowns, gripping the binder tight enough that the veins in his forearms bulge.

"I wouldn't let them change anything."

"I know you wouldn't, but I don't want you distracted by having to defend yourself to some NGO idiot." He's still not looking at her but his agitation is evident.

"I'm used to dealing with NGO idiots." Payson offers a weak smile along with the attempt at a joke but it falls off her face when Sasha finally let's his rapidly moving eyes land on her.

"You shouldn't have to be, at least not by yourself."

Payson bites her lip, every instinct wanting to shout, "then don't leave me!" but she promised - both him and herself - that she would hold to their unwritten contract. She will not ask for his decision until the end of the month, even if anxiety over the answer will shred her insides in the meantime.

"So these leos are actually not bad," she announces brightly, brandishing the World's information packet that was couriered earlier. The seven official leotards selected for the national team members to wear at Worlds are pictured. "Though we will look like walking highlighter pens in this one," she holds up a photo of a hot pink leotard.

Sasha stays silent, watching her. The hanging bulbs illuminating the island cast his deep set eyes in shadow. Payson stills, waiting, the only movement her unsteady breathing.

"Oh my god, that one looks like it's been dipped in Pepto Bismol!"

Payson sits up so fast she almost bangs her head on the glass lampshade.

"Jesus, Becca!" she chastises, as her sister sweeps up onto the empty stool by her side.

"What?" Becca shrugs, "it does."

Payson risks a glance at Sasha, but there's no danger of her little sister being privy to that almost fierce expression she feels oddly protective of; Sasha's demeanour has changed completely.

"This is why I was always glad no one gives a damn what male gymnasts wear," he says, dryly, frowning at the ring binder that is suddenly open again and making some notation with a pencil he's produced out of nowhere, the epitome of calm disinterest.

"When do you get to try them on?" Becca asks, hustling into her sister's space to get a closer look.

"After national team practice next week," Payson answers, one eye on Sasha. When he continues to ignore them, she gives up and turns all her attention to Becca. "I have to have new measurements taken."

"Obviously," Becca scoffs, leafing through the pictures, "your boobs got bigger."

Payson freezes, not sure whether to kill her little sister or herself. She daren't look at Sasha but her traitorous eyes betray her enough that, in her peripheral vision, she can't help but observe he's gone as still as she has.

"They'll probably give you free sports bras if you asked too," Becca continues, oblivious to the grenade of awkward she just launched onto the table. "But that's not what I wanted to talk to you guys about. Wait here!" She drops the World's packet and jumps down from the stool, disappearing towards her room.

In the ensuing ten seconds - where all she can hear is the word 'boobs' echoing in her ear - Payson almost wishes a car would pick now to crash through their living room.

"So what did you want to talk to us about?" It's Sasha who speaks when Becca returns, laptop in hand, putting down his folder as if he's only just tuned into the conversation. Payson's certain she's the only one of the Keeler sisters who notes the spasm of his jaw.

"I've made Payson a social media action plan!" Becca taps off her screensaver and a word document appears.

At this, Payson does trade looks with Sasha, and finds the same incredulous expression she's pretty sure she's wearing.

"What's a social media action plan?" The words are awkward in Sasha's mouth as he climbs off his seat and takes up position behind Becca so he can look over her shoulder. "And keep in mind I'm an old man who remembers what dial up sounds like when you answer that."

"You're not old," Payson retorts and immediately wishes she hadn't. Luckily, Becca starts in on her explanation before Payson's forced to ponder her reaction to Sasha's age.

"So, like, loads of athletes do twitter and instagram and youtube and everything and I thought since there's so much chatter on the gymternet over what happened at trials and where you're training now it would be a great way for you to set the record straight." She scrolls the cursor, revealing lists of suggestions for account handles and content ideas.

"Ok, I understood about five words of that," Sasha admits, then peers at the screen. "A thread discussing what a bitch Ellen Beals is," he reads, coughing to mask a chuckle.

"It's the gymternet's opinion, too!"

"Gymter-what?" Sasha glances between the sisters but Payson's preoccupied with reading the - very detailed - ideas for using social media to document, as Becca has titled it, _Payson Keeler: Road to 2012_. Payson has never kept a diary and really doesn't want to start one now, especially one that would be accessible to everyone with an internet connection.

"You don't like it?" Becca's face, so open and bright and loyal, starts to crumble.

Payson is flexible enough to kick her own ass and she's tempted to do it now. She leans over in her seat and slings an arm round her baby sister's shoulder, raking up some enthusiasm. "It's awesome, Becca, seriously; you just surprised me, that's all."

Becca beams and snuggles into her big sister's embrace, sighing in what Payson realises - unexpectedly - is relief.

 _I make her nervous_ , she thinks, a little stunned.

"Seriously," Sasha is re-reading Becca's words, though his bewilderment shows no signs of abating. "What the hell is the 'gymternet'?"

The Keeler sisters shared laughter ripples through the kitchen and Payson tries to ignore the pang of pain at the knowledge that in two weeks, Becca's first tweet could very well be announcing the departure of Sasha Belov as her coach.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** As it's my first day posting, here are the next two chapters to celebrate! Next posting will be Tuesday. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 **CHAPTER THREE**

There have been weeks - many of them - where Payson spent more time at the Rock than she did her own home. Now, the place feels almost alien. Despite knowing there's at least ten minutes before national team practice is due to start, Payson checks her watch as she walks across the parking lot, anything to stop herself focusing on the Rock logos which seem to gleam from every surface.

Familiar faces are grouped outside the main doors.

"So it's totally freakin' true!" Lauren screeches as soon as Payson is in earshot, accompanying foot stomp fuelled with enough venom that Payson's surprised the sidewalk doesn't buckle under the pressure.

"What's totally true?" Payson asks, looking at Emily for explanation.

"Sasha's replacement fell through," Emily explains. There are bags under her eyes too deep to be blamed on extra Pizza Shack shifts.

"Another one?" Payson answers, then winces.

"Thanks for the reminder, Pay!" Lauren's flails a hand in her direction. "Like it's not totally your fault we're coachless, anyway! Couldn't you just have kissed that jerk Carter like the rest of us?!"

"She and Carter broke up," Emily pitches in for Payson's benefit.

"I dumped him." Lauren snaps her arms folded and lifts her chin.

"She dumped him." Emily parrots and Payson's not sure if there is more amusement or derision in her teammate's curled lips. "And don't blame Payson," she continues, this time to to Lauren, "blame whoever sent that email to Beals."

Payson experiences a stab of anger at the mention of that fucking email.

"Beals is running practice today, bee-tee-dub," Lauren bleats quickly, wresting back conversational control.

"Oh god, she's not been appointed national coach, has she?" Payson blinks, alarmed.

"Not yet." Lauren shrugs. "There's still like a shortlist or whatever. It's all political. Dad said the NGO is totally full of factions at the moment.

"Hey," Lauren's face morphs with the dawning of an idea, "maybe my dad could hit her up to be head coach here?"

"Right," Emily scoffs, "like my life's not difficult enough; she'd probably try and poison me, or, you know, move the springboard on my vault." She snarks a glare at Lauren.

"Oh, come on, that was like, a year ago? Get over it already." Lauren brushes away Emily's comments with a hair flick. "Ugh, like I don't have enough to deal with today with Kelly Parker invading my turf. Now she gets to be all 'we've got Marty, and you've got eff all!"

She turns to stalk back inside, tugging Emily by the arm and growling at Payson to follow the hell up already.

Gripping the shoulder strap of her bag, Payson waits a moment before following. There are Rocky Mountain Gymnastics Club jackets everywhere, rhinestones glinting in the morning sun. Their wearers judgment is obvious: Lauren isn't the only one who believes Payson cost them their coach and then bailed.

Payson adjusts her national team jacket and glances around. The bench over on the grass is empty. The last time Payson felt this much of an outcast she was sitting there with a neck brace, a back brace, a walking frame. She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. She's stronger than self-pity.

When Payson enters the gym, Kelly Parker's holding court by the water cooler, Lauren's furiously squawking at her father over by the parents section, and Emily is slouched against the beam.

As she sheds her street clothes, Payson remembers guiltily that she hasn't checked in with Emily since trials; hasn't even called. She tries to shake away the extra guilt of knowing she'll place the importance of focus on practice over her friend's well being again today.

Welcome distraction from her own shortcomings is provided by her mother trotting down the stairs.

"I'm sure you haven't missed this," Kim smiles at her daughter, gesturing at the general rowdiness of the crowded gym.

"Not all of it." Payson hefts her overflowing gym bag into her mom's arms.

"Do I get paid extra for being your locker _?"_ Kim play-frowns at Payson.

"I'll put you in my book dedication!" Payson calls back as she jogs over to the mats.

"I kinda figured I'd be in there already!"

It's lucky that the stretch Payson is performing when Ellen Beal's instruction rings through the room – "Ok ladies; time to work!" – means her face is directed towards the ground: it hides her automatic grimace at hearing the woman's voice.

With a deep inhalation, Payson trots over to join the circle quickly forming around the temporary head coach. Another deep breath is required when, with a "Well, hey there, Teamy," Kelly Parker skips to a halt beside her.

Kelly makes a show of looking round the Rock. "No Sasha?" She drops her voice to a conspiratorial level and leans toward Payson. "Gotta say, I'm kind of relieved."

Payson looks ahead, fingers twitching at her sides.

"I mean, I know _you_ don't mind his hands all over you during 'training'" – she quotation marks her fingers – "but some of us find it a little inappropriate."

"What did you say?" Payson twists, glaring, as Kelly puts up her hands in the surrender position, faking innocence with a little girl smile.

"Problem, Miss Keeler?" Coach Beal's smile is etched with dislike.

 _I'll write you a damn list!_ Payson wants to shout.

"No, Coach," she spits out around clamped teeth.

The morning's practice goes well enough, but when Ellen Beals calls a fifteen minute break, Payson retreats to the office, not wanting any part of the drama that's sure to erupt now Kelly and Lauren have the opportunity to spar. She's halfway up the stairs when a familiar voice calls from the bottom.

"Not slacking off I hope, Keeler?"

Payson's already smiling as she twists round and looks down. She pops a hip and leans on the guardrail, deliberately haughty.

"I'm not the one who had the morning off, Belov."

Sasha, hands in his jacket pockets, grins up at Payson. He takes the stairs two at a time, stopping one step below her. "I'll have you know my morning was rammed," he tells her, eyes wide and serious. "Do you know what a commitment it is to marathon a nearly full TIVO?" He flashes his best boy scout smile as Payson rolls her eyes and fights not to smile back.

"Lame, very lame" she tells him, head tilted.

Sasha grins proudly and shrugs. Payson curls her toes round the edge of the step she's balancing on.

"Everything going ok?" Reality creeps into Sasha's question, his face softening in concern. He throws a look over his shoulder toward where Kelly Parker is issuing a piercing laugh. The step between them puts Sasha at Payson's eye level.

Payson glances down at the other gymnasts, breathes, then nods slowly, feeling herself calm. The isolation she's felt this morning seems so much more magnified now she's no longer alone. She has an embarrassing urge to put her hands round Sasha's neck, lean on him in a half hug and tell him all about her morning, the moves she nailed, the ones that are making her back cramp, about Kelly Parker and her ridiculous mind games that Payson is mortified to admit are working, of how strange it is to not have Kaylie here. It hits her then: she's missed him this morning. It hits strong and sudden, along with the realisation that they're over halfway through their designated trial period. She swallows against a suddenly dry mouth, unused to feeling emotion this powerful about anything but gymnastics.

"Can't keep away, Coach Belov," Ellen Beals calls up from side of the staircase. Payson blinks hastily, nearly tripping as she rears away from Sasha.

"Just here to discuss the Denver demonstration this weekend." Sasha displays no discomfort at Beals' obvious distaste at his presence.

"How kind of you to volunteer your services. Though I suppose you do have a lot of free time on your hands these days." Ellen slides her gaze to Payson, who quickly schools her expression into the same passivity covering Sasha's features and keeps the words of censure she wishes she could hurl locked behind closed lips.

Ellen eyes them both for another moment and, seeing her provocation is failing to spark as much as a frown, issues a wave and a "duty calls" before marching toward the circle of gymnasts whose volume is quickly rising. "I should not have to remind you all that this is _not_ a bar room; I will not tolerate that language!"

"But she's a bubble-headed skank!" Lauren's shriek echoes across the gym.

Neither Payson nor Sasha move, though it takes all of Payson's willpower to stop her reaching out for the hand Sasha has rigidly clenched in a fist.

* * *

The first thing Payson is going to do once they've won the team gold at the London Olympics is punch Kelly Parker in her unbelievably bitchy mouth.

"Seriously, though, I'm really interested," Kelly drawls, "because if he is as strict in the bedroom as he is in the gym, it may be the first time since," she pauses, waves a hand as she pretends to think and then issues an airy laugh, "well, _ever_ , that _I've_ been jealous of _you_."

Payson's hand is clamped so hard around her glass that her fingers are beginning to cramp, but it's either that or hurling the thing at Kelly Parker's smug face and, though Payson's pretty sure any NGO official who has ever met Kelly will understand Payson's motivation, they will probably still frown on her killing another US team member.

"The silent treatment, huh?" Kelly nods in mock understanding. "I totally sympathise." She stands up from the table, adjusts her dress, fluffs her hair, and offers Payson her most charming smile. "You're probably still sore from last night." With that final shot, Kelly struts away toward the dance floor leaving Payson gritting her teeth and mentally ranking murder methods in order of preference.

The marquee is packed with the best and brightest the Colorado gymnastics community has to offer, here to champion the city of Denver. It's been a long day so Payson's taking a break, sitting alone at an empty table and swirling a drink she really wishes was alcoholic round a glass tumbler. At least she _had_ been sitting alone until the Mickey-Mouse-haired diva wannabe had decided to continue her mission to drive Payson bat-crap crazy.

"Wanna come dance with us?" Lauren bounces up to the table, hair and other parts jiggling. The gymnast they all met earlier, Austin's friend Max, is attached to her hand and doesn't look entirely convinced letting Lauren lead him around is a good idea. Maybe he's smarter than Payson gave him credit for.

"I'm good, thanks," Payson drags out a smile she hopes says 'no chance in hell, Lo' clearly enough.

"Come on Pay, don't be lame. It's not like you've got a prison anklet to hide too," Lauren whines, pulling at Payson's arm.

Flinching away, Payson stands. "I was just going to go get some air. I might join you guys later, though." She throws in the last part to pacify a pouty-lipped Lauren.

"Fine," Lauren sulks, scanning the rest of the room. Payson follows her eye line. "Then I'll go ask Emily," she announces.

"Er," Payson stumbles round the table to block Lauren's path. "How about I go ask Emily?" she suggests, smile a little too bright.

"Ok," Lauren says slowly, scowling. "Didn't realise you guys were besties all of a sudden but, sure, whatever." She flips her hair and drags Max off to the dance floor.

Payson sighs. The last thing Emily needs is Lauren unable to take a hint; she's distracted enough as it is. Threading through the crowds, Payson eases into the chair opposite Emily. It takes Payson coughing loudly to get Emily to notice she's even there.

"Oh, hey Pay, sorry," Emily frowns, at herself more than Payson. "You haven't been there long, have you?"

Payson shrugs and grins. "Only a few hours."

Emily tries to smile but is soon looking back down at her hands and fiddling with her bracelet.

"Are you ok?" Payson asks, then immediately regrets it; of course she's not ok.

"Oh, I'm just great," Emily says, and ouch, that sarcasm is not pleasant. "I have to do a gymnastics exhibition tomorrow with a jail cell strapped to my ankle; the NGO are still deciding if they're going to kick me off the team; my mom is...like she always is; and I have no idea when I'm going to see my boyfriend again. So, yeah, i'm just great." She slumps back in her chair. "Sorry, Pay, I shouldn't take it out on you."

Payson counts to ten; then twenty. Guilty though she feels about not reaching out to Emily before, and resolution to be a supportive friend aside, Emily's continuing self-pity party is beginning to get her riled. She'll let the whole ankle monitor thing lie; Payson knows that if they start talking about it there's a good chance she won't be able to stop herself finally asking what the hell Emily was thinking when she stole that medicine. For god's sake, couldn't she have called 911? Or asked one of them to lend her some money? Payson counts to ten again then concentrates on the Damon situation.

"Emily," she starts, as patiently as possible. "Look, I know it's hard for you with Damon in LA but you have got to stop spending so much of your energy thinking about him. Worlds is coming up; we need you here."

Emily looks up and glares across the table and, ok, Payson may not have worded that as neutrally as she thought she had.

"You think I don't know that?" Emily snaps. "You think I don't know that my whole career, my whole future, is on the line right now?"

"Then if you know that, why are you wasting all your focus on some guy?" Payson snaps back, underlying annoyance piqued.

"I am not wasting all my focus on him! I've got the NGO up my ass; I've got to worry about the bills, the rent, my brother; and Damon isn't just _some guy_ to me. Not that I'd expect you to understand what it feels like."

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Emily doesn't clarify her point, just looks away, a little shamed but without apology. The squabble has already garnered some attention from the surrounding tables. Payson placates them with an 'everything's fine, nothing to see here' smile, before turning back and glaring at Emily.

"This is what I'm talking about," Payson says, at a low volume. "He's not even here and Damon's affecting you."

Emily continues to stare at nothing.

"Look, you need to decide exactly what it is you do want, Emily," Payson says, as she stands up, moving round the table until she's standing in front of her teammate, "because if it's gymnastics, then you have got to sort your head out and stop blaming everyone else for the decisions _you_ made."

Emily doesn't look up, just stares at the ugly green table cloth, returning to her silent brooding. With a surge of frustration, Payson leaves her teammate to it. There's nothing more she can say.

At a fast pace, Payson threads through groups of milling party goers and out the twinkle-light laden entrance corridor of the marquee.

The slight chill in the night air is welcome relief and Payson breathes deep as she totters past the row of 'Denver 2018' signs rippling in the breeze. Her high heels keep sinking into the damp grass so she puts all the weight into the balls of her feet and tiptoes.

Payson is here this weekend as an honorary member of the Rock team. Their demonstration tomorrow is outdoors and the equipment is already set up. She slumps down at a table nearby. After the hectic day, bombarded on all sides by NGO politics, psychological games, and personal problems, she's glad for the opportunity to centre herself, reinforce her defences, refocus her attentions. She closes her eyes, enjoying the breeze flickering over her skin, slips her feet out of her now muddy shoes and presses her soles into the cool concrete of the seating area.

"Didn't fancy dancing with Lauren, then?"

Payson smiles and twists her head toward the voice as she slowly opens her eyes. "Lauren's dancing scares me."

Sasha, standing a few feet away, suit jacket flung over one shoulder, smirks at the ground. "Lauren's dancing scares everyone," he agrees. He takes the chair on Payson's right, folding his jacket and placing it on the table.

"You really don't like formal, do you?" Payson says, with fondness instead of accusation.

Sasha's collar is open, tie loose and dangling from his neck, his shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbows and Payson suspects his hair has been victim to many rufflings this evening as his boredom has grown.

"Says the girl with bare feet." Sasha closes his eyes and tips his head back, releasing a sigh.

"This is practical," Payson shoots back, wiggling her toes. "My shoes kept getting stuck in the grass."

Head still lolling back on his shoulders, Sasha smiles at the sky. "Uh huh."

"Shut up." Payson lands a swat on Sasha's arm. He chuckles and she can't help doing the same.

They're quiet for a while, Sasha reclining in his chair, Payson elbows on the table, eyes closed, listening to the far off hum of music. It's another of their similarities, this aversion to the political side of gymnastics. They would both rather be at a gym than a party.

"How was Kaylie?"

When Payson opens her eyes at the question, she finds Sasha is already looking at her. She blinks, looks away, shrugs.

"Fine," she settles on finally. "It was weird, seeing her like that though," Payson continues after a moment, fiddling with her thumb ring.

"It's a good facility," Sasha offers. He's righted his posture and now leans forward slightly, elbows on his wide knees. He's pointed toward Payson.

"I know," Payson nods, looking at her hands, "it's just..." She finishes with another shrug.

"Yeah," Sasha says, fiddling with his hands too. "I know."

This time the quiet is heavy instead of soothing. Payson tries to think of a conversation topic but her mind is blank of possibilities, too busy recognising the similarity to the weird moment at the Rock the other day.

Slapping both thighs, Sasha, suddenly invigorated, jumps to his feet. "So," he announces, offering Payson his hand. "Are you all set for the demo tomorrow?"

Payson glances from Sasha's face to his hand and back again. A surge of possessiveness and affection stirs in her gut. Emily said she didn't expect Payson to understand about Damon. Payson is a little scared that she understands too well.

Sasha's hand is warm to the touch, his skin rough; he grips enough to help her to standing, holds her balance as she bends down to scoop up her shoes.

"I think so," Payson says, as they saunter toward the outdoor apparatus to check it out. "Emily's nervous about the whole ankle monitor thing, though, and..." she continues telling him about the various ideas they've had to conceal the device. Sasha's head is bowed toward her, his eyes on the ground ahead as he pays absolute attention to her words. He's still holding her hand.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Purple hoodie bouncing, Payson powers from her thighs and turbo sprints the last ten meters downhill, enjoying the satisfying thwack as she braces her hands against the nearest picnic table to stop her momentum.

"Keeler, for the win," she gasps, getting her breath back, wide grin across her sweaty face. She hauls herself up onto the picnic table and gets to thirty two Mississippi's before she hears the pounding of feet behind her.

"Oh, come on!" A male voice complains.

Payson turns to point a particularly smug grin at her coach as she relaxes back against the table. "You know, if you needed a head start, you could have just said so."

Breathing hard as he jogs down the hill, Sasha pretends outrage.

"I thought we said no shortcuts?"

"You think just because I won I used a shortcut? I am deeply insulted," Payson's smile undermines her words.

"No, I think you used a shortcut because you don't appear to have waded through a mud pit," Sasha pants, hands braces on his thighs as he nods at Payson's bare – and clean – legs.

Payson mock frowns and studies the skin below the sweatpant shorts. "Well, would you look at that." She glances between her own unmarked legs and Sasha's mud-blitzed calves, and then shrugs. "I didn't realise you were so clumsy, Sasha." She beams up at him.

"I did not fall over," Sasha grumps, collapsing with a wheeze to sit beside Payson. "The trail was washed out and I had to go off-road." He twists to raise a suspicious eyebrow at an innocently smiling Payson. "Which someone would have found out themselves if someone had stuck to the designated trails as agreed."

Payson lifts her chin, primly wiping away a strand of blonde hair that's sweat-stuck to her cheek. "Just because I'm the only one who knows about it doesn't mean it's not a designated trail." A giggle betrays her serious demeanour.

Sasha wipes the back of his hand over his forehead and puffs out a laugh. "Underhand tactics." He looks across at Payson, approvingly. "Pretty impressive, Keeler."

Payson gloats, buffing her nails against her sweater, then dissolves into further laughing.

They sit for a while in the picnic area, recovering, watching the tall sweep of surrounding trees lightly sway. It's just after seven and the sun's not long been up. Those in the park at this hour consist of dog walkers and runners. Payson is about to challenge Sasha to a race back to the entrance gate when she feels something wet rub against the back of her hand.

"What the... Hey! Where did you come from? Sasha, look!" Her tone changes from alarm to joy as soon as she sees the source of the damp patch. A raggedy dog has hopped up onto the picnic table next to them, muddy tail wagging brightly. "Hello, cutie, why are you so dirty, huh?" Payson rubs at the dog's ears, checking the animal for a collar. "Do you see her owner anywhere?"

Sasha frowns, twisting round to check the grove. "Nope. They're probably nearby though." He checks his watch. "You want to have a quick scout round?"

A quick scout round turns into a thirty minute search of the park, the little dog scurrying behind them like it's the best game ever.

"Anything?" Payson asks as she meets Sasha back at the picnic tables. They'd split up to cover more ground.

"No," Sasha replies, watching Payson crouch down and make a fuss of the dog. "But we need to get to training; we're already late."

"We can't just leave her here, Sasha," Payson protests, gathering the dog in her arms and standing back up.

Sasha sighs. Two sets of puppy dog eyes are trained on him. He's never had any luck denying the green pair; he doubts he'll have any better luck with this new brown set.

"We can take her to the vet on the way back from practice, see if she's got one of those microchip ID things," he concedes, without a fight he knows he'd lose anyway.

A broad smile breaks out across Payson's face. She ruffles the dog's head, nuzzling her nose into its fur, despite the dirt. "You hear that, Phoebe? You're going to spend the day with us."

"Phoebe?" Sasha raises his eyebrows.

"I think she looks like a Phoebe," Payson informs him. "And Phoebe's a good name; I used to have a pet fish called Phoebe."

"So the dog looks like a fish?"

"No," Payson laughs, giving Sasha a light shove as they walk back to the truck. "You don't look like a fish, do you?" she says to Phoebe. "Don't you listen to the mean coach."

"Oh, so first I was clumsy, now I'm mean." Sasha leans in to address Phoebe. "Word of advice, don't get on her bad side," he pretends to whisper, "she's a tyrant when she wants to be."

Giggling and rolling her eyes, Payson shoves Sasha again. "See how she abuses me?" he tells Phoebe, unable to stop himself laughing too.

They tie Phoebe up under a tree just outside Pike's and Payson spends the training session running back and forth to check on her, walk her, and play with her. The vet doesn't find a microchip and, facing the double hit of puppy eyes again, Sasha agrees to take the dog for the night.

"But if she pees in the trailer, she's sleeping al fresco," he tells Payson in no uncertain terms. Payson assures him that Phoebe is house broken; Sasha can't see how she knows that, but two nights of a pee-free trailer later and he's willing to concede the point. However, the flyers Payson posted round the park and left at various shelters have proved unsuccessful in identifying Phoebe's origins.

"I can't believe someone just abandoned her," Payson says, lovingly scratching Phoebe's head.

The three of them are sitting on the sidewalk outside the Smithside Dog Shelter, Phoebe curled up in Sasha's lap, basking in the warm afternoon sunshine.

"They said they'd probably be able to rehome her." Sasha nods back at the shelter behind them.

Payson tenses. "I've volunteered at shelters before; probably means maybe if she's lucky."

"Your mom said no, Payson," Sasha reminds her, anticipating where this is going.

"I know," Payson frowns sadly. "But...we can't just leave her here Sasha. I mean, look at her. She's been so happy with us these past few days."

As Payson looks lovingly at Phoebe, Sasha watches Payson. The little dog practically purring in his lap has certainly proved adept at relaxing Payson when her obsessive focus threatens to harm her gymnastics more than help it. And, he grudgingly admits, it has been nice to have some company in the Airstream.

"Well..." he starts, slowly, "maybe your parents would be ok about her living with you if it was only, I don't know, some of the time?"

Payson's head snaps up, so much hope in her expression that Sasha already knows there's no going back.

"And," he sighs round a smile, "I suppose the rest of the time she can stay with me."

"Seriously?" Payson nearly squeaks.

With a smile of disbelief, Sasha nods. "We'll see how it goes. But," he interrupts before Payson can release the squeal she's clearly building up to, "she's your dog, your responsibility. She'll just happen to live with me most of the time. Ok?"

"Ok, ok, that's awesome. Oh my god, thank you so much!" Payson coos with delight, hugging Sasha in a sideways embrace and pressing her temple into his shoulder. Arms full of Phoebe and Payson, Sasha puffs out a laugh at the situation.

"Wait," Payson sits up sharply, so serious Sasha frowns in concern.

"What's wrong?"

A smile that's almost shy starts to bloom in the corners of Payson's mouth. "Does this mean you're staying for good?" she asks, quietly.

Green eyes, so bright and so strong, like Sasha could have really bought himself to leave her.

"Don't think this one speaks Romanian," he says finally, throat tight, and feeling more gratified at the joy that suddenly fills Payson's face than he knows is smart.

He expects a second hug but instead Payson, almost soberly, leans her head against his shoulder. A thud goes through Sasha's blood. It's stupid but he tips his head and gently brushes his jaw against Payson's forehead. She automatically presses into the touch for a few seconds, eyes closed. It's probably lucky that Phoebe chooses that moment to make her own gratitude known. She reaches her head up and starts nuzzling her wet nose against Payson's face.

"Phoebe," Payson giggles. When she sniffs and wipes her eyes, Sasha pretends he doesn't see.

"Your dog needs a bath," Sasha moans when Phoebe attacks him, licking his chin.

"Our dog," Payson risks, smiling as she nudges against Sasha so Phoebe can half sit on her lap too.

Sasha doesn't correct her.

* * *

"He did not!" Payson shrieks with laughter, cutting off circulation with her seatbelt as she twists to look at Sasha.

"He did," Sasha glances away from the road, watches the crinkles round Payson's eyes, the dimples in her cheeks, then quickly looks back through the windshield. "Steve Tanner told me he thought I looked like David Beckham."

Payson snorts and claps her hands. Phoebe is sitting in the middle, up on her haunches, head swinging back and forth between her two new owners.

"Oh my god, he flirted with you to get you to come work at the Rock?" She snorts again, her legs pulled up onto the seat as she lolls back against the passenger door. "Well that explains where Lauren learned it from."

"Please, do not ever use the words 'Steve Tanner' and 'flirt' in a sentence about me again." Sasha shoots a look at Payson, who is still creased over with amusement, and chuckles along with her.

Eager to join in, Phoebe releases a little bark.

"See!" Sasha cries, giving the steering wheel a vindicated slap. "All this talk of Steve Tanner's upsetting the dog."

"I'm sorry," Payson flaps a hand at her face as if to cool herself down, "but I just had the image of Lauren planning a wedding between you and her dad." She's out of breath from laughing. "She's being bad enough about the whole wedding shower for Summer; she'd..." Payson freezes and her face blanches.

The steering wheel is heavy under Sasha's suddenly tight grasp. Well, that certainly answers his question as to whether Lauren told Payson about his car-crash of a relationship with Summer.

"I'm sorry," Payson says quietly, "I wasn't thinking."

"Look," Sasha says, then stops himself, his voice fiercer than he intended. "Don't worry, you've said nothing wrong," he tells her, gently as possible.

Sun spackles through branches, dusting the truck in light as it sails down the tree-lined street. Sasha squints, as much against the sudden awkwardness in the truck as the spurts of hot white. He pulls up at a stop sign. The junction is clear but he doesn't hit the gas. The steady putt-putt of the turning signal throbs.

"Payson." Sasha jacks an elbow on the window shelf and brushes a palm over his forehead. "What happened with Summer..."

"It's ok, Sasha," Payson says quickly, "you don't have to explain. It's totally none of my business." She's deliberately staring out the passenger window. If Phoebe hadn't just crawled onto her lap and started licking her hand Sasha expects she'd have opened the door and made a run for it.

"I know," he starts again, "but..." A horn suddenly blares; Sasha checks the rear-view and sees an SUV behind them.

"Bloody hell," he curses, putting the truck in drive, jerking round the corner and pulling over to the side of the road. The SUV gives it's horn another long blast as it shoots past. Phoebe barks.

Silence settles again. Payson picks white paint flakes out of Phoebe's fur, shoulders slumped. She's gone from free and confident to painfully self-conscious. Sasha watches her awkwardness grow and feels his own embarrassed fade, concern for Payson far outweighing that for himself.

"Pay."

Payson's head jerks up at Sasha's unusual use of her nickname.

Now he has her attention, Sasha holds her gaze. "We've been through so much, I think we should be past feeling awkward around each other," Sasha tells her, though he knows his expression and tone are hardly signalling he's comfortable right now.

Payson looks even more mortified and, damn, that sounded more of a censure than Sasha intended.

"I mean," he starts again; "considering how intense the next couple of months will probably be, I don't think there should be any topic that's off limits between us, even if it's personal or difficult or embarrassing. Whatever it is, I want you to know we can always talk it through. No judgement. Ok?" Sasha breathes deep and feels his pulse rate start to fall to a beat resembling normal.

Payson plays with Phoebe's new red collar as she considers his words. His pulse finally settles properly when he sees the lightest of smiles touch Payson's lips, a tiny curl of relief and perhaps something else. She nods, directs the shy smile his way for a moment then takes a breath.

"Ok."

"Ok?" Sasha confirms. "Ok." He lets the quiet linger for a few minutes. Then, with the tension mellowing, he turns the engine over and pulls back into the street.

Late afternoon sunshine continues to stream through the windows. Payson pulls her legs up onto the seat again, settles back against the passenger door, and rearranges Phoebe on her lap. When Sasha next glances at her, her eyes are closed. She was already exhausted from training and worrying about Phoebe's fate; the jolt of adrenaline that just shot through them both probably took whatever energy was left. They reach the turning for Payson's street moments later. Sasha pauses at the junction. Payson's tucked into her seat, fast asleep.

"Fancy a drive?" Sasha murmurs to Phoebe. Huge brown eyes peer up at him from under the hand Payson has resting on the little dog's head.

"I'll take that as a yes."

With a contented smile, Sasha ignores the turning and hits the gas. He'll never tire of sweeping back and forth along the mountain road and Kim isn't expecting them for an hour anyway. He stares out at the road and drives, Payson breathing steadily beside him.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Forgot to mention, I've bought the timeline of the show forward a year, so it's 2011. Thanks for all the reviews and follows, they really mean a lot to me.

 **CHAPTER FIVE**

The fake grass has yet to be removed from the Rock parking lot. Payson adjusts the shoulder strap of her bag and takes a deep breath as she looks between it and the _'reserved for Keeler_ ' parking sign. After a moment she gives her head a little shake, tells herself that champions have no time for nostalgia, and pushes her way into the Rock reception area.

Two weeks on from Sasha's decision to stay and the Rock is _still_ missing a head coach. According to an increasingly annoyed Kim, there's been talk of bringing in a retired gymnast Lauren met at camp a few years back but so far nothing's come of it. Rudderless ship is the phrase Kim keeps using; organised chaos is Payson's description of choice, which is why she's suspicious on entering the main gym because it's quiet and almost empty. There aren't bored ten year olds playing tag on the mat; there aren't harassed junior coaches considering tendering their resignations. Ok, it's national practice day, but there are always Rock gymnasts and coaches loitering around and using the annexes. Her mom's not in until later but when she glances up at the office, Payson sees that it's full of national team staff and the door is closed. _That can't be good,_ she thinks.

"Payson!"

Payson grimaces as Kelly saunters over to her.

"How are you today?" Kelly's smile is as bright as it is phony.

Payson glares.

"Oh," Kelly pouts in sympathy, "missing your boyfriend – sorry, coach - already, huh?"

For fear of indicating there may be some truth in Kelly's accusation, Payson doesn't reply, just concentrates on keeping a flush from flaring over her cheeks.

"Why don't you call him and see if he'll come pick you up? I mean," Kelly continues, leaning toward Payson, face concerned, "I wouldn't normally feel that comfortable with him being here, not with me dressed like this," with a deprecating chuckle she gestures at her leotard, "but clearly he likes his jailbait blonde, so..." she concludes by raising her palms and clapping her hands together, "it's totally fine if you want him to give you _a ride_." The emphasis in the last statement is not lost on Payson.

"What's going on?" Payson says through gritted teeth; no way is she giving Kelly Parker the satisfaction of knowing she's got under Payson's skin. "Where is everyone?"

"You mean you don't know?" Kelly simpers with pitying eyes. "Well, what's left of the team is over there." She gestures at the vault area where seven girls in national team uniforms are grouped.

"What do you mean, what's left of the team?" Payson squints over at the other girls, heart starting to thump harder. "Where are Emily and Kaylie?"

"Oh. My. God!" Lauren, for once in her life, has perfect timing. She shoves past Kelly with a disgusted smile and a "don't you have a pole to be working?" Kelly matches the expression of loathing, shoots back, "don't you have a STD to be catching?" and marches off.

"Oh, my God!" Lauren repeats, grabbing Payson by the arms, eyes wide with drama-queen panic. Payson has the urge to back away but Lauren holds fast. "I have _got_ to talk to you," she declares, shifting her iron grip to Payson's wrist, and dragging her off to the bathroom. She kicks each of the stalls open to check there is no one else there, then locks the main door.

"What the hell is going on?" Payson demands.

Lauren turns, hands already flapping with drama. "So, ok, basically? Kaylie quit and Emily's pregnant."

"What."

"Kaylie quit and Emily's pregnant!" Lauren repeats. She starts to pace, swivelling and stamping each time the confines of the small room require her to change direction. "Kaylie called me at, like, ridiculous o'clock this morning and said she wasn't coming to practice, and I was, like, why not? and she was all, because I'm retiring! She went on about how she needed to find herself outside of gymnastics, and that she wanted a normal life, and that she wanted to put her recovery first. She said she called the NGO last night but that she wanted me to hear it from her."

Payson lets her gym bag fall to the floor with a thud. Kaylie had started back at the Rock only last week.

"So," Lauren continues, "I'm already totally freaking out to Summer when she gets a call from Emily's hooker mom to say that Emily can't come to practice today because she's, dramatic pause, pregnant!"

Lauren turns on a stunned Payson, finger wagging in her direction, "and then _you_ choose today to be the one time in, like, a decade, that you don't show up early for practice and so I'm stuck with Kelly Bitchface tricking me into telling her why the coaches are in lockdown in the office. I mean, I know Sasha's hot and everything, but couldn't you have picked like any other day ever to have morning sex?"

Payson pulls open her mouth to tell Lauren - for the fiftieth time - that she is not sleeping with Sasha but the words don't come.

"Totally my reaction," Lauren gestures at Payson's flummoxed face, apparently vindicated. "I mean. God! Did you even know she was screwing that greasy band kid?"

Payson struggles to register the facts. Emily's pregnant. Kaylie's leaving the sport. And Emily...

"She's pregnant." Payson's words are a flat mumble but are enough to quell Lauren, who had started to click her fingers in front of Payson's face to provoke some kind of response.

"Knocked up. With child. Future star of Teen Mom." Lauren lists the phrases as she starts pacing again, messy braids swinging side to side.

"Oh my god," Payson exclaims, slumping back against the sink in total shock.

"Exactly!" Lauren shrieks, apparently relieved that Payson has finally embraced the screech-worthy seriousness of the predicament. "So, Emily's gonna have to quit too, which means you and me are the only Rock girls left on the national team."

Payson snaps her head up, frowning; this is not the time to be concentrating on the club demographic of the national team. Lauren, unsurprisingly, misunderstands the expression. "Oh, don't look at me like that, you're still a Rock girl even if you're not exactly training here all the time."

Payson starts to correct Lauren, but words seem to have abandoned her again. Lauren slumps beside Payson on the adjacent sink staring forward into the opposite stall, anger deflating into worry.

"So what the hell do we do now?"

Payson, mouth open, has absolutely no idea.

* * *

"Spruce Juice at four? Ok, see you later." Payson snaps her cell phone shut. She's sitting in the parents' area with Lauren. The coaches, still reeling from the double blow of losing two national team members in one day, have told the girls to do general conditioning and are too distracted to yell at Payson and Lauren to get back to work with the others.

"She's with Austin at the moment," Payson explains, cradling her cell back and forth between her palms. "But she's going to meet us, well you heard."

Lauren lets out a grunt of disgust, probably jealous that Kaylie has turned to Austin instead of her, and slumps back in her seat.

"I can't believe she's quitting," Lauren says, for the tenth time.

"I know," Payson parrots her previous ten answers.

"She's totally abandoning us," Lauren repeats her other frequent complaint.

Payson purses her lips. She's trying to be sensitive, she knows Lauren has abandonment issues, but still, her patience is wearing thin.

"Daddy! Oh my god, where have you been? Have you heard?!"

Payson breathes out a lungful of air as Lauren's father opens the door to the viewing area and Lauren, mid-shriek, flings herself at him. As much as she loves Lo, she's more than happy to hand her over to someone else to deal with for a while.

"It's okay, honey, everything's going to be ok, I promise," Steve Tanner is saying, placating his daughter in what looks like half hug, half restraint.

"Hey, Payson," he says over Lauren's head. "How you doing?"

Payson musters up a shrug and a pathetic smile. It's nice of Steve to ask if she's ok but, really, what is she supposed to say?

"Right," he nods, patting Lauren on the back as you would a distraught toddler. "Come on, honey," he says to Lauren, who is babbling the story of her day at a pitch and speed that is fast making Payson's headache worse, "let's go outside for a minute and calm down."

Payson hears Lauren's infuriated, "calm down? How the hell am I supposed to calm down!" as she's ushered through the main doors by her dad. It falls mercifully silent and Payson's eyes shut. She tries to sort out her thoughts, split them up and label each emotion methodically, make some order of the mess in her head. She fails so swaps to pushing away her emotions entirely. She opens her eyes and stares out at the floor. The other national team members are doing pull ups, sit ups, ankle weight jumps. She watches them, counting off each girls reps.

"Pay, sweetie."

Payson jumps, no idea how long she's been sitting here. Her mom has just dropped into the seat beside her.

"Crazy day, huh?" Kim doesn't bother to ask how she is and for that Payson's grateful.

"Have you spoken to Emily?" Payson bites her lip and lets her mom slip an arm round her shoulders. She's called Emily six times with no answer.

"No, but I've talked to Chloe," Kim answers, stroking her daughter's hair.

"What's Emily going to do?" Payson can't believe they're talking about Emily's pregnancy, Emily's baby, whether Emily's going to be a mom.

"I don't know, honey; I don't think Emily knows yet."

"I tried calling her but she didn't pick up." Payson watches Chris, one of the assistant coaches, gather the rest of the girls together. It looks like he's dismissing them for the day.

"She doesn't want to talk to anyone right now," Kim sighs. "Chloe said she'd call you girls when she was ready."

"We're meeting Kaylie later." Payson's voice is thin. This morning it was all planned. The four Rock girls, despite all obstacles, were going to Worlds, going to the Olympics. Now, that plan has been ripped in half.

"How can she just walk away, Mom?" There's a thread of hostility creeping into Payson's voice. With Lauren, she forced herself to be the rational one; with her mom, she can say what she wants. "She's worked for this her entire life and now, what? She just doesn't want it anymore?"

"Payson," Kim says quietly.

"No, Mom, I'm serious. I mean," Payson drags her volume down, "maybe she'll change her mind, maybe this is just part of her recovery; she could feel differently next week."

"I don't think this was a snap decision." Kim pulls her arm back as Payson sits up straight.

"Did you know she was thinking of retiring?" she says, slowly.

Kim looks away.

"You knew? And you didn't say anything?" Payson explodes, jumping to her feet.

"It wasn't my place to tell you," Kim says, firmly, "and I'd appreciate if I didn't have to hear that tone from you again, please."

Payson, chastised, snaps her arms across her chest and stares furiously at the gym floor.

"Kaylie was very ill, Payson. In a way I don't think anyone can understand unless they've actually experienced it." Kim speaks carefully, knowing her daughter is listening even if Payson is pretending not to. "This wasn't a decision she made lightly or quickly." She stands and places a hand on Payson's shoulder. Payson still stares out the window but she doesn't shrug off the touch.

"It doesn't matter how much she's invested in gymnastics in the past; if she doesn't want to do it now there is no point in putting herself through all that this sport demands, especially in her condition. And you know that. This is _her_ choice, Payson, and she's going to need your support, not your judgment because you chose to come back to gymnastics and she's decided she wants something different from her life."

Her mom makes complete sense, which makes Payson even angrier. The anger has snuck up on her; maybe she's more like Lauren than she realised.

"We were supposed to go together, Mom! Rio, London! We were supposed to go together." Payson flings her arms out wide then deflates just as quickly, sagging into her mom's tight embrace. She rests her head on her mom's shoulder as she stares at the giant banner that hangs on the opposite side of the gym – Kaylie Cruz, National Champion.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

"Are you mad?" Kaylie asks. She's got one leg pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped round her knee, as she looks across at Payson in the chair opposite.

 _Yes_. "No," Payson says, trying to soften an expression she knows is harsh. T hey're sitting at an outside table at the Spruce Juice, the afternoon foot traffic passing in and out of the bar behind. It's humid but cloudy and Payson has long since shrugged off her jacket. Lauren's gone to the bathroom, so Payson can finally talk to Kaylie without any interruptions.

"But I think you're making a mistake." Payson feels she has to be honest with her friend.

Far from being provoked, Kaylie's still too chin cheeks pull up in a light smile. "I know you do, Pay. But you have to trust me on this." Her voice is impeccably calm.

"If you're worried about the training you've lost or the pressure, we can help you. We'll all be there to support you whatever you need," Payson pushes on, leaning forward over the table. "I know I'm not training at the Rock anymore, but I'll help you whatever way I can. We can get you to the Olympics, Kaylie, I know we can, just like we always planned." There are tears in Payson's eyes which she tries to sniff away, refusing to pull a Lauren and use crying to guilt-trip her friend.

Leaning forward, Kaylie drops her feet to the ground and takes one of Payson's hands in her own. Throughout their friendship, Payson has always considered herself the strong one, the sensible one, the rational one; those roles feel reversed as Kaylie squeezes Payson's fingers as if Payson is the one who needs comforting.

"But what happens after the Olympics?" Kaylie smiles. Though she's not wearing any makeup, she looks older than Payson remembers.

Payson blinks down at their entwined hands.

"It's like I've finally woken up, Pay," Kaylie continues. "Everything I channelled into gymnastics, I understand it now. It was never about the sport, if that makes any sense. It's about what it represented; I felt like I needed to be extraordinary to justify existing."

"I had no idea," Payson murmurs.

"Neither did I," Kaylie chuckles. "There's so much else I want from my life now. I can't ignore all of that until the Olympics because there's a part of me that feels like I owe it to myself and everyone else to go. I know it sounds dramatic, but I'm not willing to sacrifice my health again to get there. The prize isn't worth the cost." There's a touch of fear in the final statement.

Payson finds that she's nodding. Kaylie's looking at her life after the Olympics; for Payson, there is no life after the Olympics, not yet.

"I'm national champ," Kaylie breathes out and smiles. "I never thought I'd say it, but that's enough for me."

"Retiring as a champion; I guess that's what we all aim for in the end," Payson says thoughtfully, patting Kaylie's hand, noticing how tiny Kaylie's wrist is.

"Yeah," Kaylie nods, calm and peaceful.

"So what are you going to do now?"

Kaylie shrugs, smile growing. "I don't know. Go to high school for a while maybe. For now, help Damon work on his music. Really get to know Austin. Just enjoy not having a constant countdown dictating my entire life."

Payson frowns at the mention of Damon's name. "Help Damon? But what about Emily and the baby?"

Kaylie's smile falls away a little. "It's not Damon's baby," she says, quietly.

"What?!" Lauren, catching the last sentence, shrieks as she appears back at the table.

"It's Razor's," Kaylie says, glancing between her friends. "Apparently he's been back in Boulder for a while. Damon told me."

"No. Freaking. Way." Lauren exclaims, flopping back down into her seat.

"Wait," Payson says, frowning. "Last time I talked to Emily she was obsessing over Damon. Are you saying she was sleeping with Razor the whole time?"

Lauren snorts. "Obsessing over your boyfriend so much you bang his best friend? Creepy."

"Lauren." Kaylie shoots her friend a glare.

"We really haven't had any idea what's been going on in her life, have we?" Payson murmurs, looking at the table. No wonder Emily didn't feel she could come to them about the pregnancy in person, she probably thought they – Payson especially - would berate her again for her lack of focus on gymnastics. It's a little stomach churning to admit that Emily had probably predicted correctly.

"Hey?" Kaylie says, dropping a hand on Payson's arm. "This isn't your responsibility. Emily made had own choices." She swallows hard. "Just like I made mine."

Payson looks quickly up at Kaylie. _We've all made choices this year_ , she thinks, _choices that have taken us further away from each other than ever._

"Gees," Lauren rolls her eyes, uncomfortable as ever with silence. "Condoms aren't exactly complicated."

Kaylie and Payson's sudden burst of laughter is probably inappropriate but after Lauren joins in too, Payson appreciates it anyway; it's been far too long since the three of them shared any emotion that wasn't painful.

When they all manage to calm down, Kaylie says, "So...still sisters?"

"Always sisters," Payson smiles, tears pricking again, as she pushes to standing and meets Kaylie in a hug.

"Hey!" Lauren cries, jumping up. "Don't forget about me!" She throws her arms around her friends and they cling to each other, sniffing away tears.

"I'm sorry, have I just walked into one of my dreams? Were you about to pull out the pillows and the underwear?"

Without releasing the hug, the three girls swivel their heads.

"Ew," Lauren exclaims, whilst Payson watches the fondness wash over Kaylie's face as the women's national champion looks at the men's Olympic champion.

Austin is standing a few feet away, clutching a beautiful bunch of brightly coloured flowers.

"Milady," he pronounces as he offers them to Kaylie. She rolls her eyes as she disentangles from her friends to accept them but her smile is as bright as the petals blooming in her hands. Leaning down to kiss Kaylie, a gesture clearly not new, Austin's carefree demeanour falters. There's soberness in the way he pushes his lips to hers, tightens his eyes, then studies her face as he pulls back. Kaylie's expression softens further and she nods lightly, answering Austin's unspoken question of is she ok. She strokes a finger along his jawbone and he smiles down at her, affection and protectiveness not hidden.

Watching the obvious bond in the simple yet intimate gesture, Payson's mind is on Sasha before she can stop it. The suddenness of her need to see him stuns her with its strength.

"Ok, either get room or get a round," Lauren commands, stepping between Kaylie and Austin and forcing them apart, palm on either chest. She throws her best spoilt brat grin at Austin as she drapes an arm over Kaylie's shoulders, reclaiming her best friend. For once, there's no real jealousy in the move; Lauren's just playing for laughs. She gets them and Austin disappears inside the Spruce Juice to spend some of his ridiculously large sunglasses sponsorship cheque on a round of smoothies.

"Kaylie and Austin, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g," Lauren sings as they sit back down at the table. Kaylie pretends to pray for deliverance when Payson joins in.

* * *

The motorcycle has only broken down once this week and Sasha considers that a win considering the low price he paid for it. He's still got kinks to work out though, one being the judder it gives every time he switches off the engine, giving the appearance of a bucking bronco. It's not so bad when you don't have a teenager watching you pull up onto a driveway.

"Smooth," a giggling voice assesses.

Sasha gets off his bike and looks over to the Keeler's front lawn.

"I'll remember that when you're asking me to pick you up from school because riding with your mom in the station wagon is too embarrassing," Sasha teases, wiping his oily hands on his t-shirt and walking over to Becca. She's dressed in short shorts and a tank top. It's past eight and the front lawn is lit by the neighbourhood streetlamps and the yellow light spilling from the living room window.

"I'll remember," Becca shoots back, waggling a pom-pom at him.

Sasha grins. "How is school, anyway?"

It's only Becca's second full week at high school. Sasha hadn't been entirely surprised when Payson had come to training one morning, face drawn, and told him that Becca had decided to give up pursuing gymnastics at a serious level. According to Kim, it was a decision she and Mark had been discussing with their youngest daughter for a while, but had left it until everything was finalised before they told Payson.

"School's good," Becca says, face lighting up. "I mean, I suck at most of my classes," she brushes the difficulty of shifting from homeschooling to the classroom with a typically bouncy self-deprecating wave, "but I really like art, and cheerleading is so much fun." She shakes her pom-poms again and pulls out a beautiful split jump with so much ease that Sasha has no doubt she simply walked onto the cheerleading squad her first day of school.

"Glad to hear it," Sasha says, the day's events weighing a bit lighter on him in the company of this little optimist. He pulls at the collar of his t-shirt to fan his neck; it's dark but hot, air muggy.

"Oh," Becca suddenly pouts. "But look what your dog did to my pom!" She thrusts one of the blue and white cheerleading props toward him and there are noticeable teeth marks in some of the plastic strips.

Sasha hides his smirk behind a hand.

"I saw that!"

"I'm sorry, Becca. I'll buy you some new ones if you need," Sasha offers, still amused at Phoebe's choice of toy. She point blank ignored the cuddly quacking duck that Payson had bought her.

"No worries," Becca shrugs it off, smiling again. "I do like having Phoebe around," she admits. "You're not taking her back tonight are you?" Becca's eyes grow wide.

"That's up to your mom." Sasha shifts responsibility for the decision, conveniently spying Kim at the living room window as he does so. He acknowledges her with a raised hand and suspects he looks as tired as she does.

"Payson is", Becca chants with a double clap, "out back!" She finishes her impromptu cheer by chucking her pom-poms up in the air and throwing a standing back tuck. She shoves her hands to her hips as she lands and releases the cheesiest grin she can muster. Sasha gifts her applause which she acknowledges with a dignified bow before returning to practicing her already perfect standing fulls.

The side gate is unlocked. Sasha unlatches it, pushes his way through, and follows the path into the backyard. From a gap in the clouds, a nearly full moon spills across the large lawn, bleaching the dark a thousand levels of grey. He looks up and stops mid stride. There is a ghost on the grass; a spinning white shimmer shining in the moonlight. He blinks, blaming the large whiskey he had before he came, blinks again, sees a flash of blonde amidst the white, and recognition clears his vision.

Wearing a knee-length nightdress very different to her usual bunny covered pyjamas, Payson is dancing, bare feet skimming the night-damp blades as she spins out a series of grand jetes. There is too much age in her appearance for Sasha's comfort, too much experience and awareness in her movements, too much strength and poise. It is not a child dancing through the dark and the danger in that sets Sasha's skin alight.

Payson spots him mid pirouette. He expects her to stumble in surprise, trip over her own feet and tumble to the ground. He half hopes that she will; hopes she will revert back into childish clumsiness and banish the feelings starting to corrode his insides, but Payson doesn't stumble, doesn't miss her landing. With a skip of powerful grace that makes Sasha swallow hard, she simply whirls out of the jump and runs toward him, feet pointed as if she were a ballerina crossing her stage. Her usually pale skin is nearly white in this distorted light, her blonde hair shining, loose and streaming out behind her.

Despite himself Sasha takes a step forward, body expecting the hug before his mind even processes that might be why she is coming over. Payson stops short though, lightly panting from the exertion, catching her hands on his forearms rather than throwing her arms round his neck.

"I didn't know whether to call you or not," Payson says, fingers pressed into his skin.

"I'm sorry I didn't check in. I went to the Cruz's; then I tried to see Emily..."

"She's gone," Payson interrupts, frowning, suddenly dropping her grasp on Sasha's arms and looking at the grass cutting against her bare feet. She scrubs her toes into the ground until she scrapes through to the soil. "We went over there - me, Kaylie and Lo - but," Payson's composure wavers slightly before she steadies herself again, "but her mom said she's gone to stay with her godmother for a while." A pause. "That she's going to have the baby."

"I know," Sasha says quietly. He'd been ushered in for coffee by Chloe and was disappointed that all he could do for her was hold her hand while she cried.

Payson looks up at him again, eyes dark, face suddenly so full of emotion Sasha can't decipher exactly what he's seeing, then she drops her head to study the ground. He starts to ask if she's ok, then stops the words in his throat; of course she's not ok, why force her to put up a pretence by piquing her pride.

"I still can't believe they're both gone," Payson murmurs. "I mean, I get it's what Kaylie needs and that it's a hell of a decision for Emily, but..." A pause. "How can they just walk away?"

A breeze is coming from the east, a hot, restless wind rolling down off the mountains. Sasha suddenly realises he's taken Payson's hand, feels her calloused fingers resting in his palm. He tells himself it's a gesture of comfort he'd offer anyone.

"Do you dance out here often?" He nods at the lawn, changing the subject because he has no answers to offer.

It takes Payson a second to register the question. She jerks her head up when she finally hears him, shaking away whatever thoughts had consumed her. Her small smile is private. "I haven't done it since I was eight," she admits, the steadiness of a kind memory infusing her voice. "Grams sends us these things every Christmas." She holds out the skirt of her nightdress. "I used to dance in the dark and pretend I was Payson the Friendly Ghost." Payson's eyes crinkle with an embarrassed grin. "I haven't even got them out of their wrappers in years; I just send them to goodwill in the summer." She suddenly frowns, studying herself. "The ones I had when I was a kid were a lot different."

The low neck, the high hem, the slim straps, Sasha's no expert but he knows the difference between a child's dress and an adult's. As Payson turns this way and that, studying how the cotton falls, Sasha can't help but watch. He's always appreciated that she was beautiful but never before as he felt what that means.

"Anyway," Payson stills and shrugs, "not really my usual style," she jokes, plucking at one thin white shoulder strap. Her face suddenly clouds. "I've no idea what made me think about them, why I'm even out here." The confession is as heavy as her reminiscence was light. Her eyes skitter left then right, as if tracking a thousand reasons at once.

Sasha can't help taking her hand again. She looks at him, looks at their hands, mind still miles away. "I just felt like my skin was going to explode," she says, squeezing Sasha's fingers automatically. "I couldn't sit down, couldn't stay still; I wanted to go for a drive but mom wouldn't let me go by myself, so..." she trails off, free hand gesturing at the garden.

Emotional overload; Sasha's familiar with the condition, it used to - and apparently still does - have him reaching for the whiskey bottle. He's glad Payson didn't take a more typical teenage route and choose the same outlet.

"And, anyway," Payson shimmies off the honesty and wrenches out a forced smile that pains Sasha to see. "Becca was driving me crazy with her cheering. Can't hear her as much back here."

Sasha accepts the lie and nods, commenting, "she seems happy." He's glad he said it when Payson's uncomfortable smile turns true; the contentment of a big sister knowing her little sister is enjoying life.

"She is, isn't she," Payson murmurs, glancing past Sasha to the house, as if she can see straight through to the lawn where Becca is practicing her routines. The next second, Payson's so sharply turning away, putting her back to the house, dragging her hand from Sasha's, that he instinctively follows, concerned, as she skitters forward into the middle of the lawn.

The darkness is thicker here, away from the residue of the house lights, the moon now hindered by burgeoning cloud. Sasha stops just behind Payson, watching the rise and fall of her shadowed back as she breaths hard.

"I'm fine," she snaps, low but strong. Sasha's hand hovers in midair. He pulls it back, dropping it to his side.

"I'm fine," Payson repeats, round a swallow. She's holding it together, but only just. So much change in one day, so much change in the past few months; for someone as reliant on routine as Payson, adjustment takes a great deal of effort. Just as it is taking a great deal of effort for Sasha not to slip his arms round Payson's waist, pull her back against his chest, let her fight him or hold on to him, whatever she needs to feel safe and not alone.

Payson's mane of hair sways as she straightens her posture, drops her shoulders, takes a giant breath that she releases slowly. The signs of her relaxation techniques are obvious to Sasha even in the dark. When she turns back, her eyes are both too young and too old, and there is too much knowing in their grey shine as she studies his face. Sasha grips the ground through his boots, remembering the feel of the mat on his feet when he once thundered toward the vault.

"You said I could talk to you about anything. No judgement." Payson's pale face is tilted up to meet his gaze.

Sasha nods at the repetition of his words, his heartbeat loud on his eardrums. The breeze has picked up, is sweeping faster through the garden, biting with a suddenly cold edge. The grass blades quiver. Sasha's t-shirt and Payson's nightdress tremble.

"When I said I'd respect your decision if you decided to leave, I was lying." She blinks but doesn't look away. "I would have followed you."

Sasha swallows. "And dragged me back kicking and screaming?" He tries for glib but it doesn't really work.

"If I had to." And there is no doubt in Payson's expression that she would have followed him all the way to Romania if necessary.

Sasha should censure her for that, repeat that she has a responsibility to her family, to the US team, to herself, to act rationally and sensibly; that there are other coaches; that she can't always get what she wants. Instead, he feels a thrum in his chest: it's been a long time since he believed someone cared enough about him to follow if he ran.

"Duly noted," he says finally, after coughing the emotion out of his throat.

Payson's serious expression tints with a small smile as Sasha tips his forehead down toward her gently, his gesture of forgiveness or perhaps gratitude.

The temperature has fallen as the darkness has deepened around them. Payson shivers and rubs a palm against her upper arm, glancing up at the mountains that loom on each horizon, suddenly terrifyingly large. Frowning, Sasha watches the shadowed masses move and spread like smoke, black rocks stretching through the sky.

"Scary," Payson whispers, shuffling her dust-splattered feet closer to Sasha until her shoulder brushes his chest.

"Storm," Sasha answers. Payson is tucked close against his body as they look to the east.

A shroud has swallowed the mountains, gathering clouds pressing forward, faster and faster. Green echoes through the grey and black, highlights of a hidden moon two slices from full. The smell of water is washing across a suddenly swirling wind that's sending Payson's loose hair into a cyclone of blond tendrils.

"We should get inside," Sasha says, as the first faraway rumble shudders through the atmosphere. The storms that spring up unexpectedly tend to hit with the most violence.

Payson has taken a handful of his t-shirt. With the other hand, she traps her swirling hair in a fist. "In a minute," she replies.

A stray flash spikes the sky. Though it is still miles away, it smashes the garden white for half a second. They flinch together. When Sasha looks down, he sees the adrenaline of his own feral grin reflected in Payson's. Another rumble, this time longer, a drumbeat introduction accompanied by the rustle of a million leaves as the trees shiver. The hand Sasha has on Payson's hip he blames on protective instinct.

"Storm coming!" Becca's hyper voice drifts over the house just as a wall of sheet lightning explodes and all the lights in the street go dead. Becca's scream is punctuated by the slamming of the front door.

The darkness is now complete; an unbroken solid gloom. Another thunder clap. The approaching storm is crackling with aridity.

"Used to get storms like this in Romania," Sasha whispers, close to Payson's ear, the glare of the dark having the same effect on his voice as a librarian's scowl.

"Yeah?" Payson, whispers back, excitement creeping in as she tips her head slightly to listen. Sheets of white burn the clouds, and the blond hair Payson still holds firm in her fist sparkles for a moment.

"Long time ago now," Sasha answers as the air falls black again. _A different continent; a different life_ , he thinks.

Payson still has a grip on his t-shirt and is now leaning her weight against him, her side turned into his ribs. Sasha can feel her heartbeat thudding through his chest. It's a feeling he could get used to, God help him.

"Hear that?" Payson's voice is husky. She's breathing hard.

Sasha tips his head down automatically as he listens to the night.

"I hear it," he whispers. There are tiny footsteps in the wind; ribbons stuck with needles flapping against the clouds; the lightest patter of glitter sprinkling on glass.

"Pay..." Sasha breathes slowly, uncoiling the fist she's got clamped on his t-shirt and encircling her fingers with his.

"Yeah?" Payson answers, just as slow, gripping his hand, because she felt it too, the most innocent of rain drops brushing her shoulder.

"Run!" Sasha's yell drowns in the sudden explosion as the storm lands on Boulder. Three thunderclaps boom in quick succession through a sky burned white with lightning; the deluge of water smashes down like a solid wall on the world below.

Soaked through within seconds, clothes sticking to every piece of skin, Sasha and Payson run together across the lawn, sliding on the rapidly slick grass, pulling each other along, hand in hand. Payson's ringing laugh of joy challenges the thunder and the hammering water. Up the steps to the house, along the decking that runs flush to the wall, through the back door Kim throws open as soon as she sees them sprinting through the storm.

"Are you two nuts?" Kim exclaims as they barrel across the threshold and skid to a stop as the door slams behind them.

Huddled with Sasha on the door mat as they attempt to keep from dripping water all over the kitchen floor, Payson laughs, slicking back her soaking hair.

"That was so much fun!"

Heart filling as she hears the unmitigated joy in her daughter's voice, Kim shakes her head as Sasha copies Payson and smoothes his wet hair down; he's smiling just as crazily, looking younger than Kim's ever seen him.

"Definitely nuts," Kim concludes, unable to stop grinning too. She tells the pair to stay exactly where they are, thank you very much, whilst she fetches towels.

Rain pounds the glass door as the storm riles itself into a tumult. The kitchen is glowing with candlelight. Wet skin illuminated by the tiny flames flickering throughout the room, Payson peers up at Sasha.

"Stay for a while?" The request is simple and quiet; her rain-soaked face glows with firelight.

One more whiskey, one more minute out in the storm clutching Payson's hand as they ran through the dark, and Sasha wouldn't have been able to stop himself replying, "always." As it is, he just nods.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Chapter breaks weren't behaving so two became three! Next update on Thursday :)

 **CHAPTER SEVEN**

The official press release announcing Kaylie and Emily's departure from the national team is short and vague. 'For medical reasons' is all the explanation given.

The Rock is inundated with reporters searching for further detail, but all members of the club are under strict orders to 'no comment' everything. When a few decamp to Pikes in hope of surprising Payson into betraying the truth of her friends' situations, Sasha's stony glare and menacing stance send them scuttling.

Payson is both impressed by and grateful for Becca's growing adeptness with social media.

"I'm just gonna instagram some old photos of you guys and caption 'Rock Girls Forever'. And we won't reply to any comments. Then we'll go radio silent for a few days and come back with those photos we took of your new training leos. Cool?"

Payson had answered by wrapping her little sister up in a hug, declaring the rest of the night a gymnastics free zone, and demanding to know absolutely everything that was going on in Becca's new high school life.

Over the following days, Payson throws herself into training with even greater purpose, Sasha seemingly driven by the same need for distraction in work.

A week after the storm, and it's way past dark by the time Sasha shoves open the heavy gym door, holding it to allow Payson to walk through and out onto the sidewalk.

She yawns widely as he glances up and down the dark street, trying to remember where he parked the truck _._

Glass smashes. Sasha's been around enough pubs at chucking out time to be able to identify the sound of a bottle being thrown and landing on cement. He spins toward the noise, pushing Payson behind him.

"The hell's your problem, asshole?!" The shout comes from across the street, about a hundred feet west. Two men are fronting up outside a liquor store. Glass glints on the steps up to the store. Could have been an accident, could have been intentional; Sasha isn't about to bother finding out which.

"Should we do something?" Payson's shifted to stand next to him, her shining blond hair suddenly conspicuous in the night-distorted streetlights as she peers over the traffic to where the men are gearing up to throw punches. Sasha has her small hand held in his fist; he doesn't remember who grabbed who.

Two other guys rush out of the store and position themselves to break up the potential fight; there are gestures of 'calm down' and 'what's your problem?' and 'back off' visible even under the store's canopy.

"Looks like they've got it covered." Sasha tracks what's going on even as he eases Payson away from the curb, pulling on her hand when she automatically resists. She's young enough to think it's her job to fix everything. "Help me find the truck." He tugs out a smile.

Payson keeps looking back as they walk, fascination at a world she doesn't yet know. Sasha keeps his attention forward. Her hand is still tucked in his and she's pressing into his side, probably without realising. He pretends she's the only one who won't let go.

"You should really get one of those beeper things on your key ring," Payson's saying.

"I was thinking spray painting the thing neon green might work."

"Living in a trailer park and driving a neon green truck," Payson nods, deadpan, "you are all class, Belov."

Payson's trying a little too hard to be normal - the grip she's got on him is a giveaway – but Sasha laughs anyway and pretends he doesn't see her nerves, isn't analysing whether they're caused by the angry men she doesn't recognise or the man walking next to her that she does.

They find the truck despite the lack of beeper and neon paint. Sasha opens the passenger door first, over exaggerates playing the part of bodyguard to make Payson laugh as she slings her gym bag in the back and climbs in. He stands in the gully between his truck and a beat-up hybrid, waiting for a stream of traffic to pass so he can get round to the driver's side. He looks at the back of Payson's head as she leans it against the side window and knows it's a sight he shouldn't be calmed by.

"And that's why you don't leave by yourself at night," he tells Payson as a police car squeals past in flashing blue. He can feel her rolling her eyes, pride overriding logic. He turns the engine over and checks the side-mirrors, smiling to himself.

Payson leans forward and fiddles with the radio, scratching through five stations before she finds a song that makes Sasha immediately feel old. She taps her fingers on her thigh. She settles into her seat as if they've got a four hour journey ahead of them instead of a twenty minute one.

"Have you ever been in a fight?"

Sasha flicks a look at her. She's staring out the windshield at the headlights spilling past.

"Why do you ask?"

There's a shrug. " Just curious."

They draw up at a stop sign, and Sasha checks the intersection. It's clear but he doesn't turn. Payson's playing with her hands; she's shifted closer to him. He knows it's a bad idea even as he says it.

"You want to get some coffee?" He pretends to check the intersection again.

"Sure," Payson says, over emphasising her nonchalance.

Sasha glances at her, sees her shining in the dashboard lights, remembers how she looked dancing through the pre-storm darkness of her garden.

"Actually," he clears his throat, "it's getting pretty late, I should probably get you home."

"Sasha," Payson raises her eyes at him, makes him feel like the seventeen year old. "It's nine o'clock."

"Right," Sasha nods, pushing the gas a little too hard so the truck lurches forward. Payson slams a hand onto the door handle. "Sorry," he says as they jerk round the corner and settle into the fast lane, "but you lot do drive on the wrong side."

The diversion works, at least on the surface. Payson is teasingly indignant on behalf of her country; Sasha throws in as many insults as he can find based on the superiority of the 'motherland' across the pond. They bicker their way to the nearest Starbucks drive thru, then start up a debate on whether the new gymnastics scoring system has been a success as they sit in the parking lot. Payson turns in her seat so her back is flush to the door, her knees pulled up to her chest as she sips her coffee and reels off a list of why Sasha's opinion is wrong. Sasha lounges his head back on the headrest and tips it to the side to watch her.

"So?" Payson says once she's thoroughly demolished Sasha's argument. She leans on the vowel.

"So?" Sasha repeats, drawing a blank on what she's asking him.

Navy dusk has morphed to evening black and all the security lights in the parking lot are shining. The truck's internal light is off and it's like they're sitting in a little shadowed cocoon.

Payson looks at Sasha like he's an idiot. "Soooo," she prompts. "Have you ever been in a fight?"

Sasha glances out the windshield, lips quirking. "One advantage of this county," he shrugs his eyebrows at her as he takes gulp of coffee, "the fifth amendment."

Payson nudges him in the thigh with her sneaker. "That is lame, Belov." She chuckles into her coffee. A car reverses into the space opposite and both of them squint in the glare of the headlights. When they disappear, Sasha blinks in the momentary dark. Payson rubs her eyes.

"What about you - ever been in a fight? Any cage matches with Kelly Parker I haven't been told about?"

Payson sighs. "As much as I would love to hit Kelly Parker with a chair, no, I've never been in a fight." She suddenly frowns, and adds, "not exactly, anyway."

Sasha sits forward and flicks off the radio. "Ok," he demands, "this I need to hear."

Payson looks down at her coffee, a sheepish but proud smile creeping across her mouth. Sasha watches the way her eyes crinkle. "When Marty first left the Rock, me, Kaylie and Emily went to Denver to call him out on quitting."

"Call him out?" Sasha repeats, more amused than before. "Please tell me this story ends with you punching Marty Walsh in the face."

"Unfortunately, no," Payson says, shuffling in her seat. "But on the way home we had to get gas and when we were at the gas station we were getting hassled by this group of jerks."

The smile falls off Sasha's face.

"Hassled?"

Payson waves the word away. "Just guys being guys", she says, condemning the entire gender. "They were calling us princesses and whatever. Anyway," she pauses and looks over at Sasha, deadly serious, "we scared them off with back flips."

Sasha blinks.

"You scared them off with back flips?" he repeats, slowly.

Payson nods, still deadpan. "Yup. Actually," she tips her head, "if you want to be exact, we scared them off with handspring layouts."

Sasha stares at her. Her mouth is starting to twitch. Sasha breaks first, tipping his head back as he laughs loud enough to be heard outside the truck and startle the couple walking past. Payson joins in, looking delighted at his reaction.

"You're lying," he laughs.

"I'm not! They were kind of drunk and they thought we were superheroes or something."

"So, what? You just flipped past the gas pumps and they ran away screaming?" Sasha wipes his eyes, still laughing.

Payson inclines her head. "Apart from the screaming? Yeah, pretty much." She's pulled her legs under her and has shifted nearer to Sasha.

"Promise me," Sasha tells her, poking her knee with his index finger, "that when you win Olympic gold, you will tell that story in the press conference."

Through the long hair hanging in her face she flashes him her brightest smile. "You really think I can still win gold?"

Hesitant, Sasha reaches forward and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. If his hand lingers on her jaw, he blames the residual protective adrenaline from the fight they witnessed earlier. "Payson, there has never been any doubt in my mind that you can win gold."

She leans lightly against his palm on her cheek. She's not laughing anymore. Passing headlights reflect in her eyes. "Even when I had a giant crack in my spine?"

Sasha trails his fingers down her jaw line and catches her chin. "Even when you had a giant crack in your spine."

Sasha can feel his pulse in his thumb as it presses under Payson's chin, feels the echo of her own beating too fast in her throat. Payson's breathing is shallow and her attention is darting between Sasha's mouth and eyes. The tightness of the truck's front seats presses around them.

"Payson," he murmurs.

"Yeah?" she murmurs back, her mouth already curling in a resigned smile indicating she knows what he's about to say.

Sasha pulls his hand away as gently as possible and sits back in his seat, a sigh escaping before he can stop it. In his peripheral vision he sees Payson twist and sit up properly in her seat, staring through the windshield with her hands in her lap. Sasha grinds the heels of his palms into his eye sockets.

Their silence isn't awkward but the easiness, the contented camaraderie, has evaporated. Sasha chugs down the rest of his coffee, drops the empty cup into the footwell. He's about to say they should get going when Payson's phone beeps. She rustles around in her jacket.

"Mom's asking when we'll be home; if we want her to keep dinner warm," Payson announces, tone neutral. Sasha doesn't know if 'we' was Kim's choice of words or Payson's.

"Ok", he replies, twisting the car key. The engine turns over as Payson taps at keys with a speed that makes Sasha's Sega Megadrive trained fingers look arthritic. They pull out the parking lot as fast as they pealed in, narrowly avoiding colliding with an eighteen wheeler.

"Olympic hopeful dies in car crash at Starbucks! Nice headline, Belov." Payson's forced laugh is part nervous, part frustrated.

They get caught at every stop light on the way through Boulder. Sasha twists the radio on and rolls the window down. They drive without talking. A few blocks from Payson's house, she says, quietly, "we talk about the awkward stuff."

Sasha doesn't look away from road, but he reaches out to cup the hands she still clasps in her lap. She nods down at their entwined fingers and Sasha drives the rest of the way with one hand.

* * *

The trailer park is a fifteen minute drive from Payson's house and twenty minutes from Pike's; a commute of thirty seconds is something Sasha certainly misses about living in the Rock parking lot. He'd stayed at the Keeler's for a quick dinner, but hardly eaten any of the chilli he usually devoured.

The trailer five spaces down is keeping up its tradition of pumping out obnoxiously bad music at an obnoxiously loud volume. Sasha's lived in some dives in his time; he learned to tune out other people's noise a long time ago. Still, tonight he can feel a headache building behind his eyes.

"You believe those jerks?" Tyler from the next trailer over is sitting on his steps, half way through a cigarette. He waves it in the direction of the music, showering himself with ash.

Sasha works the key in the lock of his front door whilst glancing acknowledgement at his neighbour. "They haven't played any of your requests yet?"

Tyler huffs out a laugh round a drag of his cigarette. "No they fuckin' haven't."

Sasha raises a hand and a brief smile as he pushes the door closed behind him. Some evenings he sits out on his step and listens to Tyler bitch; it's therapeutic if he combines it with a scotch. He's not in the mood for company tonight.

Most of Sasha's possessions are in his cabin in California so the Airstream is pretty empty. He throws his jacket onto the inbuilt sofa, shucks his boots off and kicks them into the corner. He grabs a beer, pulls off the top and drops it on the floor, then leans back against the fridge.

The principle of coaching is about respecting boundaries; the moment those boundaries begin to blur is the signal to terminate the relationship, or to at least become less involved in that athlete's training. Sasha gulps down half his beer. The light from the next trailer is cutting through the slatted blind of the small window, painting Sasha with bars. He huffs a laugh with no humour; behind bars is about right.

Sasha drains the rest of the beer, slams it down on counter-top. He fetches another one. The music gets louder. Tyler bellows. Sasha sits on the sofa and watches the dark.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Kim gets Summer's call just as she's pulling out of the Kennedy High parking lot. Becca answers the cell phone and picks absentmindedly at the hem of her blue and yellow cheerleading uniform as she listens to the voicemail.

"Summer needs to see you. Like, now?" is the gist Kim gets told a few seconds later. In her experience at the Rock, urgent news is never good, so it's with some trepidation she turns them in the direction of the gym. Becca opts to stay in the car and play on her phone so Kim hurries through the Rock front doors alone. She's about to mount the stairs when she hears her name being called.

"Hey." Sasha jogs over from the main doors.

"Hey, yourself," Kim replies, frowning. "What are you doing here?"

"Summer texted me. Asked me to come by. Said it was urgent." Sasha, hands in his jacket pockets, shrugs. "I figured you'd know what it was about," he looks at Kim's face, "apparently not."

"No," Kim says carefully. Her trouble radar is beginning to beep. "It's my day off; I've got Becca in the car."

"I know, I just saw her," Sasha says, as they start to walk up the stairs to the office. "I've got Phoebe with me and Becs said she'd take her for a walk round the block."

"Right," Kim nods, distractedly, racking her brain for some clue as to what this mysterious summons might concern. It's been a hell of a fortnight, what with Emily and Kaylie leaving; they've only just got rid of the parasitic reporters. The last thing any of them need is more bad news. Holding the door open, Sasha lets Kim walk into the office first. As they enter, Summer jumps up from behind her desk. Her eyes are bloodshot and Kim's trouble radar starts to blare.

"Oh god, what's happened? Is someone hurt?" Kim rushes forward.

"No, no, everyone's fine," Summer says, attempting what Kim assumes is supposed to be a reassuring smile though it actually resembles a grimace of pain.

She gestures to the couch so Kim sits, or rather perches, on the edge. Sasha declines Summer's awkward invitation for him to sit as well.

"What's going on?" Sasha's blue eyes are sharp though his tone remains soft. "You said it was urgent."

Summer turns away, distracts herself by switching on the desk lamps and straightening her already exact line of pens. "It's Lauren," she says finally, leaning on the edge of one of the desks and struggling to keep her composure.

"What about Lauren?" There's the smallest of edges to Sasha's question.

"Is she ok?" Kim asks warily, glancing between the other two adults.

Summer looks down at her lap; her hands are clasped in semi-prayer position. Kim wonders if they should be stocking up on canned goods.

"She confessed something to me this morning," Summer says, sniffing, voice shaky, "said that since it was only her and Payson left after what happened with Emily and Kaylie that she couldn't keep lying." Guilt has joined panic and upset on Summer's face.

Kim, adrenaline starting to pump, looks again at Sasha. His expression has hardened.

"Summer?" Kim has to prompt since Summer seems to be unable to find the words.

"Oh, Kim," Summer's eyes are heartrendingly sad. "I'm so sorry, but it... it was Lauren who sent that video to Ellen Beals."

Kim's eyes drop shut. She feels sick. Summer doesn't need to explain which photo she's talking about. There are seconds, possibly minutes, when no one speaks. The office seems both cramped mausoleum and echoing cavern.

"Why?" The force of Sasha's sudden question seems to startle Summer out of her reverie.

"What?" she says in surprise.

"Why did she do it?"

Kim has never heard Sasha so shaken.

"She said she was hurt," Summer stammers, almost crying now. "She said that she felt you only cared about Payson and you didn't give her any attention. She was lashing out and had no idea it would go as far as it did. She said she didn't mean to hurt anyone, not really."

"Then why didn't she say something sooner?" Kim snaps. She's doing her best to remain calm and remind herself the Lauren is just a child but, God, she is furious. "She just sat by whilst Sasha was accused of all those terrible things, whilst Payson was humiliated. Why the hell didn't she own up if she never meant to hurt anyone?"

Summer looks lost, opens her mouth, and hesitates.

"What?" Kim narrows her eyes.

More hesitation, then, "there was another reason." Summer looks acutely embarrassed. "She said..." Another pause. "She said she was trying to get her dad and me back together," Summer mumbles, looking anywhere but Sasha.

Kim lifts her eyes to the ceiling. "And for that to happen she had to get Sasha out the way," she sighs. "God, what a mess."

Sasha has put his back to them both, is staring at the wall, head bowed, fists clenched.

"Does anyone else know?" Kim asks, standing up and pulling her purse onto her shoulder.

Summer stiffens. "Only Steve." There's a bitterness to Summer's tone that Kim has no intention of getting involved with. "I wanted to make sure you didn't hear it from anyone else. I just got off the phone with the NGO; I've emailed them the complete video of what happened." Guilt overcomes Summer again and she pauses to wipe her eyes. "I assumed you'd want to be the one to tell Payson," she says to Kim.

"Damn right," Kim says. "And I better get going before some genius at the NGO decides to actually do their job and calls to apologise." She stalks to the door, pausing to look back at Sasha. He's still facing the wall. "I'll tell Payson you'll speak to her later?" she says to his back.

"Yeah," Sasha says, tightly, turning to nod at Kim. He looks exhausted.

Summer is shifting her weight back and forth between her feet. She keeps glancing at Sasha. Kim wants no part of that either.

"Ok," she says to Sasha and, sparing a nod to Summer, throws the office door open and runs down the stairs.

* * *

Sasha's not sure how long it's been since Kim left. He's sitting on the black leather couch, elbows on his knees, staring through the floor. Summer is still sniffing. She's taken a seat at the other end of the couch.

"I'm so sorry," she repeats. "I still can't believe it. She promised me so many times she'd stop with the manipulations, the games. I wanted so badly to believe her. And then she does this." Summer trails off, hand still clasped in reverie though Sasha doesn't want to know what she's praying for.

Sasha coughs to clear his throat. "How long has Steve known?" He can feel Summer turn to look at him.

"A few weeks is what he said; who knows if that's true." Her disbelief is evident. Sasha glances at her left hand. Sure enough, her ring finger is empty.

"He was protecting his daughter," Sasha sighs.

"You're defending him?" Summer asks, stunned.

"No," Sasha says, scrubbing at the back of his neck. "When you sent the complete video to the NGO, did you tell them where you'd got it?"

Summer looks away. "No," she says, tightly. "I just said someone had sent it to me anonymously. It's up to you and Payson to decide if you make Lauren's role public; I didn't want to take that choice away from you."

Sasha sighs. "Where's Lauren now?"

Summer dabs her eyes with an already damp tissue. "At home with Steve as far as I know." There's distance in her tone. "There was a fight," she says, cryptically.

She's waiting for Sasha to ask her for details; perhaps a few months back he would have done, played the shining secular knight and comforted her. Now, he stands, straightening his jacket. "I need to check on Payson," he says, glancing round the office that still feels like his.

"Ok." Summer tries to hide her hurt but is too upset to do it with any success. Sasha doesn't want to cause her pain, but neither can he be the man she wants him to be; he's finally figured that out.

"Take care, Summer," he says quietly.

Mustering a tear-filled smile, Summer looks up at him. "You too, Sasha." She bites a lip and her face starts to falter.

Sasha, tightness in his throat, glances to the ceiling, nods twice, then walks from the office without looking back.

* * *

As she did the evening after World trials, Becca answers the Keeler's front door. Phoebe's tucked tight in her arms, the little dog unusually subdued.

"You might wanna wait a little bit," she tells Sasha quietly, glancing over her shoulder. "She's kinda angry."

Sasha expects that's a rather large understatement. He spares Phoebe a quick pat, then grips Becca by the shoulder on his way into the house and she dissolves into his side with a sigh of "this sucks so bad."

"I know, kid," Sasha agrees, giving her a quick squeeze before letting her go and warily walking through to the living room. Becca doesn't accompany him. Sasha soon realises why.

Payson is stalking the room, face distorted with fury. She nearly barrels straight through Sasha and he has to catch her by the shoulders to make her notice he's standing in her path.

"She tried to blame Kaylie," Payson barks up at him, without any greeting. Sasha frowns, glances at Kim who's sitting on the couch; she raises her palms to the ceiling, helpless.

"What?"

"Lauren!" Payson snaps the name with disgust. "When we were in Denver, she tried to say it was Kaylie that sent the video because she was mad at you for finding out about her anorexia. Can you believe that?!" She pulls away from Sasha's grip, shoving her hands on her hips, waiting for his response.

"Ok," he says, blankly.

"Ok?" she hisses. "Ok?! That's all you have to say?"

"Payson..." Sasha says slowly, holding his hands up in a calm down gesture. Payson pulls her arm away from the hand he offers.

"Don't you dare," she tells him, suddenly dangerously quiet. "If you're about to start defending her..."

"Pay..." Sasha tries again.

"Oh God, you are about to defend her, aren't you?" Payson whirls away in disgust, storming into the kitchen. She opens a cupboard, looks in without seeing the contents, then slams it again, turning back to glare at him.

"I'm not defending her; I'm just trying to understand why..." Sasha's explanation is cut short

"That is so typical," Payson barks. "Lauren does something unbelievably mean, she cries and says she's soooo sorry, she points the big eyes and the pouty lips at the nearest sucker and, what do you know? All is forgiven!" Payson throws her hands up in disbelief. "Well, not this time. I'm not buying it and I can't believe you are."

Before Sasha can answer the accusation, Kim stands up. "I'm going to leave you both to it because I think this is a conversation you need to have in private." Kim looks a clear warning at Sasha then turns to her daughter. "Pay, I love you and I know that you're hurt and angry right now, but I promise we are going to sort this out."

Payson folds her arms and glares out the kitchen window, too angry to accept any condolences. Kim hesitates then leaves the room. Sasha can soon hear the low murmur of conversation from Becca's bedroom.

"Well?" Payson snaps when they are alone.

"Well what?" Sasha sighs, shrugging off his jacket and dropping it on the couch.

"Are you telling me you're _not_ angry with Lauren?"

Sasha looks over at Payson. Her cheeks are red, her scraped back pony-tail tugging her already angry face even tighter.

"Of course I'm angry," he says, though his tone doesn't reveal that emotion, "but what's the point in being angry about this? It doesn't change anything."

"What's the point?" Payson retorts, apparently intending to throw everything Sasha says back in his face. "The point is that Lauren has been pulling this crap for as long as I've known her and I am sick of people making excuses for her. And anyway," she stalks back into the living room and stops beside the TV, folding her arms again, "since when the hell are you Mr Calm? Where's the guy who punched Marty Walsh in the face in the middle of a national team practice?"

Sasha feels a spasm through his jaw as he grits his teeth. "There is a big difference between the culpability of a grown man and a seventeen year old girl."

"That is sexist and ageist," Payson shoots back.

"So what? You want me to punch Lauren in the face?" Sasha snaps, carefully tamped down anger finally wriggling free.

"No, 'cause I'm going to do it first."

"And how exactly is that going to help?"

"I don't know but it'll sure as hell make me feel a lot better!" Payson yells so loudly her voice echoes round the room. Silence falls. Sasha throws himself down on one of the chairs, scrubs both hands violently through his hair, then jacks his elbows on his knees.

"What do you want me to say right now, Payson?" he snaps as he looks up at his athlete.

For the first time, Sasha sees the edges of hurt in Payson's eyes. His chest clenches. The betrayal Sasha's trying to deal with must be nothing to what Payson's going through.

"Pay..." he says, suddenly gentle.

Payson recoils, blinking sharply and stepping away from him. "Don't," she says, voice tight with tears not shed. "She lied to me, she lied to you, and I won't forgive her for that." She's turned away from Sasha completely, and - he can't help it - he goes to her, places a hand on her upper arm.

"Maybe if you two just talked for a while," he says, quiet and careful. "Maybe..." It's the wrong thing to say.

"No!" Payson erupts, pulling away from Sasha and wheeling round to scowl at him. "I forgave her for what she did to Kaylie with that asshole Carter; I forgave her for getting Emily kicked out of the competition in France; I won't forgive her for what she's done to you!" Payson is crying now, furious tears spilling over her eyelashes. Sasha reaches for again, heart snapping, but she pushes him away and runs to her bedroom.

The door slams and Sasha collapses into the chair again, head in his hands.

* * *

The destroyed photograph is scattered over the carpet in four pieces. Payson sweeps up the section that's still mostly Lauren and tears it through until she's just ripping at her own fingers. She's sobbing and hating the weakness of her own body in giving Lauren the satisfaction of crying over her.

Payson throws herself onto her bed, shoving her face into her pillow to cover the sound as tears make her wretch and gasp. She takes two fistfuls of comforter and squeezes until her knuckles hurt. How many goddamn chances can you give someone? Payson lifts her head to breathe and teardrops drip from the end of her nose. She wipes an arm across her face and then slams it into the pillow. Apart from Sasha, Lauren was the only one she had left. Kaylie, Emily, Becca, they've all chosen to walk a different path; Lauren was the only one still walking with her and now she's betrayed everything they were supposed to be.

Twisting onto her side, Payson brings her knees up to her chest, curls in on herself and can't stop the tears. She doesn't know how long she stays like that, or how many times the door has been knocked before she finally hears it.

"What?" she tries to yell, but it sounds so weak and pathetic she hates herself a little more.

The door opens but she refuses to sit up and see who it is.

"Get your coat."

Payson frowns and this time she does sit up.

"What?" she says again.

Sasha remains in the doorway. Payson recognises his coach mode, issuing instructions without explanation. She has no intention of responding to that routine tonight.

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because why?" Payson repeats, more forceful.

"Because," Sasha takes a step into her room. She's expecting him to yell. He doesn't. "When Kaylie and Emily left, you remember what you said?" Payson just shrugs. Sasha continues. "You said that you just wanted to go for a drive but your mom wouldn't let you go alone?" He holds up his car keys and gives them a shake. "Get your coat." Without seeing if she responds this time, Sasha turns and leaves the room.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

Suburban streets dissolve into freeway junctions dissolve into stretches of nothingness dotted with strip malls. The truck cab is a cocoon in the dark. Payson stretches out in the passenger seat – her seat – and watches taillights and gas stations and patches of cloudless star-filled sky streak past the window. Sasha keeps one arm jacked on the window, his hand barely skirting the steering wheel during the miles of straight road. They could be anywhere, could be anyone; Payson has never quite appreciated the anonymity of darkness as much as tonight

An hour gone, Payson looks at Sasha's profile, dimly lit by the dashboard clock.

"I know where we're going," she informs him, calmly. It may be dark but Payson's driven this route many times.

Continuing to look out at the road, Sasha turns the radio dial. "I thought we were just driving," he says, frowning until he finds a station spilling out blues.

Payson shakes her head and returns to looking out her window, her rueful smile reflected back at her in the dark pane. "Of course we are," she says, quietly.

* * *

When the truck rounds the corner of the long dirt track, dim lights are visible from some of the lodge windows. _What money can buy in the middle of the night,_ Sasha thinks, with slight disgust, as he eases the truck into a parking space at the front of the lodge. A few of the floodlights have been turned on too, though Sasha suspects that even in the dark the ostentatious SUV would be gleaming.

Flicking off the engine, the radio going dead, Sasha steels himself before turning to wake Payson. The gentle "Pay" he whispers is unnecessary though, she's already awake.

"You're very predictable, you know that, Coach?" she says, without looking at him. She's staring at the 'Team Tanner' sign printed on the SUV next to the truck.

Sasha had been expecting another torrent of abuse as soon as they'd arrived and Payson's suspicions of their destination of the gymnastics camp had been confirmed. Instead, she just sounds tired.

"Just hear her out is all I'm asking." Sasha sits back in his seat, lets his head loll back against the headrest.

"You know," Payson turns to him, "you could have staged this intervention in Boulder, saved you having to drive two hours to hear me say. Not. Happening." And there's the anger Sasha was anticipating. Payson folds her arms across her chest and sits back, stubbornly glaring out the windshield at the lodge.

"I didn't want to stage this 'intervention', as you call it, two hours ago in Boulder, because you from two hours ago would have punched Lauren in the face, as you repeatedly told me."

"And what makes you think that me right now won't punch her in the face?" Payson asks, feigning curiosity.

Sasha sighs. "Because you're a professional, Payson."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Payson snaps, still refusing to look at him.

"Worlds are in a month. Lauren is one of your team-mates. You need to be able to work together or you haven't a hope in hell of winning any team medal, let alone gold. And you need to sort this out tonight because we don't have the luxury of wasting a day or a week on some personal vendetta."

Payson glares at the SUV again.

"And that's why you've forgiven her so easily? Because of Worlds?"

Sasha pauses. "Yes and no. I'm also choosing to try and forgive her because I know that this time there are people in her life who won't."

Payson absorbs the reasoning with a frown.

"I won't be her friend," she says, slowly.

"I'm not asking you to be. But you need to figure out how to be her teammate."

Payson continues to look at him with suspicion. "Fine, I'll talk to her," she snaps, "but only because we're here anyway." Shoving the door handle down, Payson swings her legs out of the truck and jumps to the ground. She leaves her coat in the car; the forecasted cold wind has yet to materialise. Rounding the back of the truck, she meets Sasha by his door.

"Was this place your suggestion or hers?" she asks, still wary of him, hands in her jeans pockets and remaining a few feet away.

"Mine," Sasha says, as he pulls a flashlight from the truck dash then slams his door. "I figured neutral ground might be a good idea." They start to walk a well worn track into the trees. When the floodlighting from the parking lot fades, Sasha flicks on the flashlight.

"Last time we were here, Lauren told Kaylie she'd slept with Carter. Very neutral," Payson says, sarcastically.

They follow the path in silence, flashlight beam bouncing away into the dark. Unseen insects skitter and chirp, tree branches creek as leaves rustle; in the distance, water gurgles as it makes its way through the rocks to the lake. As the track curves, an orange glow appears in the open space suddenly revealed amidst a glen of tightly packed trees. Two silhouettes stand by the fire.

"When you said there are other people in Lauren's life who won't forgive her, who did you mean?" Payson leans toward Sasha and whispers as they enter the clearing. Sasha doesn't answer.

Hand outstretched, haloed by the firelight, Steve Tanner approaches them.

"Sasha."

"Steve."

The two men shake hands. When Steve glances at Payson, she's shocked. She's never seen him look guilty before.

"I'm so sorry, Payson." His sincerity is either so true or so well faked that the sarcastic retort Payson conjures stays in her throat. She cedes a curt nod instead, then, before Steve can offer anything else, turns her attention to the other person hovering beside the fire.

The coaches would light a fire every night of gymnastics camp. Payson used to watch them pile up the branches within the permanent ring of stones, learned by observation which woods to place on the bottom, how to arrange the logs to burn most easily, where to light the initial spark. She wonders if it was whoever Steve paid to turn the lights on at the lodge who built the small blaze that throws heat up into her face as she comes to stand beside it.

"Pay..."

Payson can see Lauren in her peripheral vision shifting uneasily. "Why?" She wants to ask _how_? _how could you do this to me, to Sasha?_ but opts for the less emotional question.

"I..." Lauren tucks her arms round herself. Payson glances at her. Lauren's hair is dragged back in a messy loop of a pony tail. She's wearing a black fleece jacket so big Payson suspects it's Steve's; fleece and fire yet she's still shivering.

"I don't know," Lauren murmurs.

"Yes, you do," Payson replies, immediately. "Start talking Lo or, I swear, I'm gone."

For the first time Payson meets Lauren's eyes. If Lauren is expecting Payson to melt at the desperation and remorse in her expression, clearly she doesn't know Payson very well.

"I was jealous," she says, sniffing away tears. "Sasha was always busy coaching you, taking you places; I didn't think he gave a damn about the rest of us." She glances up at the sky. The stars are bright out here beyond the lights of the freeway.

"And you thought trying to get him fired was a better option than, I don't know, talking to him? Or me?"

A shade of Lauren's usual spoilt attitude creeps into her face but it's a fraction of what Payson usually has to deal with so she's unfazed.

"Why else?" Payson spits.

"What?"

"Don't play dumb, Lo; you had another reason didn't you?"

Lauren's face crunches into stubbornness. "Summer obviously told you so why do you need me to say it."

"Because I want you to be completely honest for once in your life," Payson nearly snarls.

"Fine," Lauren concedes, "I wanted to get rid of Sasha so Summer would get back together with my dad. I said it, happy?" She sniffs hard, tears starting to roll again.

"Ecstatic," Payson murmurs to the fire before raising her voice again. "Even if Sasha was gone, why did you think Summer would get back with your dad?"

Lauren shrugs. "I figured I could make them realise how much they still loved each other."

"You can't force people into a relationship just because it's what you want."

"We can't all come from perfect Brady Bunch families, Payson. I don't expect you to understand."

Silence lingers for a few minutes; it's only broken by the crash of a log collapsing in the flames. A flurry of embers rise into the darkness, spattering the ashy smoke with needle-point light.

One question rises above the torrent of Payson's mind-chatter. "Why come clean now?"

Lauren is working the toe of her sneaker into the charcoal coated soil beside the fire stones. She continues to scrub at the soil as she talks, almost shyly.

"At the Spruce Juice the other day with Kaylie...you... you called me your sister. Well, kinda anyway."

Payson's eyes close of their own accord.

"I know that you were mostly talking about Kaylie," Lauren continues, "but no one's ever said that even half about me before and... and it meant a lot. I didn't want to lie to you anymore."

Payson doesn't trust herself to speak for a while. She waits until the tell-tale prickle of water under her eyelids subsides.

"How did you even get hold of the training video?"

Lauren sighs. "You guys just left the camera on the floor and I thought I'd take a look. So _not_ what I was expecting to see, believe me." Her eyes widen.

Smoke catches in the air and wafts into Payson's face. She coughs and winces as ash flutters into her throat. "Did you not stop for a second to think how many people you would be hurting by using it?"

"You want me to be honest? Then, no, I didn't," Lauren admits. "I found the tape, I saw you guys kissing, and...I don't know...it just kind of happened."

"The picture emailed itself?" Payson rolls her eyes, disgust flaring and eclipsing the light surge of sentimentality that had begun to gather. "That's one fancy computer you must have."

Needing to move, Payson drops onto one of the log seats that frame the fire, arms wrapping around her chest. Lauren follows but leaves a wide space between them.

"I'm sorry, Payson," she says, so quietly the apology almost drowns in the crackling fire. "You have no idea how much I wish I'd never sent that stupid email to Ellen Beals."

"Why? Because you got caught?" Payson feels her throat start to tighten. With effort she breathes deep; she will not let herself get emotional about this.

"No," Lauren impeaches, looking at Payson's profile, "because...because I hurt you. You're my sister, Pay, one of my best friends. One of my only friends," she says quietly, glancing at the fire.

"Right," Payson scoffs bitterly, "because humiliating someone is a great way to show them how much you care. Just like sleeping with someone's boyfriend."

Lauren flinches like she's been slapped. It's a low shot but Payson keeps talking, refusing to feel remorse, blood stirring with years of swallowed rage. "It's always game playing with you, isn't it, Lauren? Always manipulating people to get what you want but god forbid you would ever take responsibility for what you've done. Oh no, it's always someone else's fault. Kaylie didn't tell you she was dating Carter; Emily came to the gym and deliberately stole your spot. Of course that justifies screwing them over."

Lauren sits, absorbing Payson's accusations with increasingly tense shoulders. "We can't all be as perfect as you, Payson," she spits back, defensive side starting to flicker.

"Here we go," Payson shakes her head in frustration, "so it's my fault you sent that video. Because I _stole_ your coach. Because Sasha _stole_ Summer. Got it."

"If you think I'm such a bitch why are you even here?" Lauren cries shrilly, her voice ringing loud through the grove.

Payson waits for Sasha or Steve to interfere. Nothing. "Because, like it or not, we are on the same team," she says, coldly. "And it's a bad enough atmosphere with Kelly Parker's attitude poisoning everyone; if we can't figure out how to be around each other either then the team is going to collapse."

Lauren scoffs, but there's more pain in the noise than derision. "Of course: gymnastics. Like you would bother coming here to try and salvage our friendship."

"I'm sorry?" Payson growls with disbelief. " _I'm_ the one that doesn't value our friendship? Wow, this knife in my back must be affecting my understanding," she snaps sarcastically, hunkering down on the log and glaring at the fire.

"That's not what I meant," Lauren frowns.

"Then what did you mean?"

"I made a mistake Payson, I've made a lot of mistakes. You may think I don't get that but I do, ok?"

Payson scowls into the flames.

"I know I can be a bitch and that I manipulate people to get what I want but..."

"But what?"

"But I figure that if I don't look out for me, no one else will."

A gust of wind shakes the heavy branches. The fire swirls and stutters. Payson picks up a stray stick and coaxes the flames back to life.

"Did you ever think that if you just gave people a chance they might prove you wrong?" Payson asks, quietly.

Lauren shrugs a shoulder. "Or they might prove me right."

The murmur of male voices floats across the grove. Payson looks back over her shoulder. Sasha and Steve are standing side by side a couple dozen feet away, watching the fire too. _That conversation's probably as fun as this one_ , she thinks as she turns back.

"Do you hate me, Pay?" Lauren's voice is so young that Payson closes her eyes in annoyance.

"I don't like you right now that's for damn sure," she answers truthfully round a sigh. "But no," another sigh, "I don't hate you, Lo."

Shuffling closer on the log, Lauren pushes at the too long sleeves of her dad's jacket. "Just tell me what I have to do to make things better."

Orange and red tinged with yellow and the lightest inkling of blue. Payson lets the flames hypnotise her.

"Pay?"

Kaylie, Emily, last time Payson watched this fire they were all there together; before Nationals, before the back injury, before Kaylie's anorexia, before Emily's pregnancy. She watches the flames crackle, smoke swirling into the air, embers gusting away like fireflies. Time and chances slip away so quickly.

"Payson?"

"Things have to change," Payson breathes slowly. Her tenacious heart has more than once had to drag her through challenging circumstance and she feels it start to beat harder again, a pulse of encouragement.

"They will," Lauren says quickly, too quickly, and Payson whips round.

"You can't just say it," she bites, "you have to prove it."

A thin frown of determination creeps through Lauren's miserable expression and she sits up a little straighter. "How?"

"The log over there," Payson gestures with one hand.

Lauren glances across the grove. "The one where we carved our names and 2012?"

"Do you still want that?"

Lauren doesn't answer immediately this time. She stares past Payson's shoulder, picking at the sleeves of her too long fleece, thinking.

"Yes." The firmness of her voice turns it from simple agreement to pledge.

Payson studies her teammate, heart thumping hard. "No more drama, no more games, no more manipulating. We do it by the book this time. We work hard, we don't get distracted, we don't lie to each other."

As Lauren nods, her tears still shine in the firelight, but Payson knows that set of her mouth. Lauren's always had fortitude and dedication; she's just never pointed it in the right direction. Maybe this time...

"We build a strong team. We don't let any NGO bullshit get in the way of the gymnastics," Payson continues. "This isn't about friendship Lo, it's bigger than that. We're _teammates_ ," she puts emphasis on the word, infuses it with the emotion and power she believes it holds.

"Teammates," Lauren repeats.

Payson looks a Lauren a beat longer – maybe _she's_ the sucker who's bought Lauren's big eyes and little girl tears this time – then nods sharply and looks back at the fire. She thinks of the Olympic torch. Lauren has scooted closer, is sitting next to Payson now. The truce is tenuous, they can both feel the fragility, and it's a while before Lauren risks a conversation.

"Summer's gone," she says, with a hitch in her voice she can't avoid. The tears start to swell again.

Payson frowns. "For how long?"

Lauren wipes her eyes and sniffs. "For good." She has to pause and cough before she can continue. "She said she loves me and dad but...but she didn't trust us. We'd both broken our promises too many times. She said you can't have a family without trust so," Lauren shrugs and swallows a sob.

"I'm sorry," Payson murmurs. Now she knows what Sasha meant: Lauren's lost the mother she always wanted.

"It's my own fault," Lauren says with a grim, tearful smile. "I had everything, it was all perfect; she was going to marry dad and she wanted to be my mom. And I wrecked it," Lauren sniffs and looks toward the trees. "I screwed up, Pay, I know I did," she says, looking back at Payson. There's a sincerity in her expression that is unfamiliar. "Gymnastics, the Rock, it's all I have left. You have my word I won't jeopardise that again. Just...please don't walk away from me too."

She may still be furious, may still feel betrayed despite Lauren's repentance and promise of a new start, but Payson is not a stone. She lifts an arm and drapes it around Lauren's shoulder, tipping her head to make room as Lauren drops onto her shoulder and starts to sob. Payson sighs and rubs circles on Lauren's back, face hot from the fire.

Across the grove, Sasha and Steve watch the girls.

"She's got some heart," Steve says, almost in awe, as Payson take his daughter in her arms and comforts her.

Sasha doesn't reply. He's remembering himself at seventeen; a tangled mess of entitlement and grief and aggression with little control, blinded by glory lust. His respect for Payson grows even greater.

"Look," Steve sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face, "I know I have no right to ask this, and you're perfectly free to tell me where to shove it but," another sigh, "your old job's yours if you want it."

Sasha huffs a laugh that holds no humour and blinks a few times to clear his vision. "You're something else, you know that, Tanner?"

"So I've been told," Steve replies, laugh just as painful.

The small lake lies just behind the grove, reeds and rushes intermingling with wild grass as the bank drops away from earth to water. Sasha walks to the edge, listens to the lapping slap of water as he watches the solid looking black mass stretch beyond sight into the dark. Steve would never make a fisherman or a hunter; Sasha hears him snap five twigs as he cautiously makes his way over.

"If I come back," Sasha takes a deep breath once Steve has been standing in nervous quiet for a few moments, "things have got to be different. No more trying to run things through the parents' board. If I'm in charge, I'm in charge; I'm not having you conspiring with the NGO every time you disagree with one of my decisions."

Pale face catching in the reflected moonlight, Steve nods vigorously.

"And no more playing politics to get Lauren ahead. She achieves through hard work or not at all," Sasha scowls as he uses every inch of his height advantage to glower down at the shorter man.

"You got it." Steve puts his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. He glances back at where his daughter is still leaning against her teammate. "Something's got to change," he murmurs, mostly to himself.

Sasha slips his hands in his pockets and stares back out at lake. The water looks like oil.

"I'm guessing my first task is finding a new co-manager for Kim?" he asks, gruffly.

Steve shifts his weight between his feet and glances to the sky. "Summer's gone to her parents for a while," he coughs out, tone strangled and embarrassed. "She's going to write to Lauren once she's settled; she doesn't want to just drop out of her life completely but..." Steve trails off, uncomfortable.

"She couldn't be what Lauren needed," Sasha finishes for him. Something splashes out on the lake.

"She felt so bad," Steve sighs, "but I told her you can't force unconditional love even if you wish it was there."

Sasha's lips twitch. "I'm sure she loved getting advice on relationships from you."

Steve shucks his eyebrows and puffs out a laughing sigh, the most self-deprecating noise Sasha's ever heard from him. "Trust me; there were a few ornaments that didn't appreciate my attempts at wisdom. I'm just thankful she aimed them at the wall and not my head." He waits a beat for the levity to drift away. "So, do we have a deal?"

Sasha runs a hand through his hair. "Let me talk to Payson," he says, not waiting for an answer before he turns and noiselessly walks across the grove to the girls. They're sitting side by side, both with their hands in their pockets, leaning forward as they watch the fire.

"Pay?"

Payson jumps a little as Sasha crouches down in front of her. The fire's heat licks his back.

"Should of bought some marshmallows," Sasha's lips twitch and draw higher when Payson smiles too.

"Not very organised of you, Belov," she teases, though her eyes are bloodshot and tired.

Sasha pats Payson's knee and then turns to Lauren. She's got her head down but Sasha sees her terror.

"If it's ok with Payson," he says to her, as kind as possible, "I'm coming back to the Rock."

Lauren looks up in surprise, glances at Payson whose eyes are just as wide as hers.

"Seriously?" Payson breathes.

"Only if you're ok with it." Sasha looks at Payson from his crouched position, his knees touching hers.

"Of course I'm ok with it," Payson assures, then sobers a little as she glances at Lauren and realises why Sasha thinks she might have reservations.

"We've made a deal," Payson tells him. "Things are going to change." She won't go into more detail now – they've got a two hour journey back to Boulder for that – but her expression seems to be enough to convince him she's not just saying it for his benefit, though she does still have doubts as to whether Lauren will actually follow through on the declaration of intent.

"Sasha?" Lauren squeak is barely audible. "I..."

Bad knee fast making it clear that it does not appreciate the position it's in, Sasha eases himself to standing, hiding a wince, and, slowly so as not to spook her further, sits down beside Lauren. He waits.

"I'm so sorry for what I did," she pushes out finally, wringing her hands together.

Sasha doesn't speak words of reassurance or condolence; Lauren's starting to face up to the concept of consequence for the first time and he won't ruin that. Instead, he simply says, "I accept your apology."

Lauren hesitates as if she's expecting more; an 'I forgive you' maybe or an 'everything's going to be ok' but Sasha won't promise what he can't guarantee. Eventually, she dips her head in acknowledgement.

Steve suddenly steps into the fire's glow; he's looking at his daughter. With wordless understanding, Sasha stands and beckons for Payson to do the same.

"Come on," he places a hand on Payson's lower back and she sinks back slightly into his grip, lets him steer her toward the track that leads to the parking lot. When she looks over her shoulder, Payson sees Steve standing in front of Lauren, both haloed with flame, and understands; now it's their turn to talk.

"I'm proud of you, Payson," Sasha tells her in a night-time whisper as they walk slowly along the track, the flashlight beam once again revealing the way. His hand is still on her back and she's grateful; she feels a little unsteady on her feet.

"I don't know if it'll work," she admits, as usual not wanting praise she hasn't earned.

"I'm proud of you for trying," Sasha confirms, with a small chuckle at her stubbornness.

Payson's quiet until they reach the end of the track, then she pauses her stride and peers back into the dark grove they just came through.

"I had to. We're all that's left," she murmurs, thinking of a log carved with four sets of initials and the numbers 2012.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

The Airstream hasn't been cleaned in so long Payson could write her name in the dirt on the door. She probably will later, just to annoy Sasha. She concentrates on that thought as she opens the passenger door of her car, hooks Phoebe to a red leash and lets her jump from the seat, because, though the Airstream is back in its rightful place, the 'reserved for Cruz' and 'reserved for Kemetko' parking signs are conspicuous by their absence. Payson looks at the spots her friends used to occupy and allows herself ten seconds to mourn the Rock life that is gone forever. Then, with a deep breath, she pulls herself to her full five foot four inches and strides purposefully into the gym, Phoebe trotting beside her.

It's barely 6:45am but the gym floor is already teeming with gymnasts. Sasha has ordered the entire roster to be in by seven and no one wants to be late on his first day back in charge.

"Lauren?" Payson frowns, spotting a twirl of blonde braid brushing the floor as its owner stretches to lay palms on the floor. Special occasion or not, Payson has never known Lauren be early to a practice. Standing back up, pushing her arms to the ceiling to ease out early morning shoulder stiffness, Lauren greets Payson with a smile as wary as it is welcoming.

"Hey Pay," she calls, a little too brightly, as she jogs over.

"Hey," Payson replies, stiffly, gripping harder on Phoebe's leash.

The gym is alive with noise but Payson and Lauren stand together in silence. _Just another thing that will never be the same again_ , Payson thinks.

"I told Kaylie what happened," Lauren breaks the awkward quiet.

"I know," Payson replies crisply, unmoving.

Lauren nods. "She called you, huh?" she tries again at conversation; Payson cedes a little ground.

"Yesterday, after you spoke to her. We talked."

"And?" Lauren asks a little desperately, biting her lip.

"One day at a time, Lo," Payson sighs, pulling Phoebe back when the dog tries to dart across the floor. "Let's just get to Worlds."

Battling her tendency to throw a tantrum when something doesn't go her way, Lauren nods an 'okay'. "What's her name again?" she asks, crouching down to stroke Phoebe's head, eager to have another topic of conversation. Phoebe wags her tail and sniffs Lauren's knee.

"Phoebe," Payson says, unable to keep a small smile creeping into her face as Phoebe plays up to the attention. She crouches down too and plays with Phoebe's tail, which makes the little dog spin on the spot. "Sasha's set up a basket for her in the office. We didn't want to leave her in the trailer all day."

Lauren nods and giggles a little when Phoebe licks at her fingers. Usually, she would tease Payson for the weird little family set up she's got with Sasha over this dog; Lauren hates that the freedom of such banter is gone.

"Sasha's in the office," Lauren says, as they stand up, both brushing dog hair off their hands. "And Parker's here," she wrinkles her nose at having to pronounce the name, "do you know why?"

Payson frowns and glances at the staircase. "He didn't mention anything last night."

Again, Lauren misses the opportunity to tease Payson about the innuendo in that statement but she shoves it into the big ball of regret in her stomach that she intends to use to power her to beam world gold.

"I'm gonna go..." Payson points at the office by way of explanation, walking away as Lauren says a quiet "ok" and returns to her solo warm-up, missing Summer, missing Kaylie, rolling her eyes when she realises she even misses Emily.

Payson jogs up the steps, Phoebe beside her. Kim is bringing Becca to school before she comes in so the office is empty apart from Sasha.

"Well that was awkward," Payson says as she walks through the door. "I know I said I'd give Lauren a chance for the sake of the team but, God, every time I see her I can't help remembering what she did." She shakes her head as she bends down to unhook Phoebe's leash and usher the dog into the basket by Sasha's desk. She's so lost in her own thoughts she doesn't realise for a moment that Sasha has made neither comment nor greeting.

"Everything ok?" she asks, standing. Sasha's sitting in his chair, busy scribbling on a notepad.

"Everything's fine," he says, without looking up.

Payson frowns. "Did you hear what I said?"

"About what?" More scribbling.

"About Lauren," Payson replies, a little annoyed. Phoebe gets up to sniff Sasha's hand in greeting but he ignores her so she scuttles back to her basket.

"You know we've got no time for personal vendettas right now, Payson." When Sasha finally looks up from his notepad, his expression is as cold as his tone. "Can you get down to the floor and ask Lauren and Kelly to join us, please. I'll be there in a minute."

Payson almost takes a step back. "What's wrong?"

Sasha's face doesn't change. "Nothing's wrong," he says, pushing up from the chair and turning to rifle through the filing cabinet.

"Ok-ay," Payson says slowly, frown deepening at his attitude. "I guess I'll go get the others then," she says, when he makes no response. She finds herself at the bottom of the stairs without realising she even left the office.

"Lo, Kelly," she hears her voice shout.

At the summons, Lauren jogs over immediately, while Kelly, dismissing the two boys she's talking to with a little wave, dawdles toward them, only reaching the water cooler as Sasha stomps down the stairs.

"You ok?" Lauren asks, as she takes her place beside Payson.

"I'm fine," Payson lies.

"Firstly, Kelly? Thank you for joining us at such short notice," Sasha gifts her the briefest of nods, ignoring Payson and Lauren's looks of confusion. "Haley, Drea, and Beth will be advised this by email, but I wanted to take the opportunity to tell you three in person. The NGO have appointed me as head coach for the national team."

"Seriously?" Payson exclaims, grabbing his arm with excitement.

Sasha glances at her like she's just burnt him. Her smile falls along with her hand.

"As planned, training camp will begin here at the Rock on Monday, but since the three of you are local I wanted to get started as soon as possible." Sasha looks at Lauren and Kelly, not Payson. "I know things have been confused since trials. We've lost Kaylie and Emily. We've lost training time and we've lost focus. But I can assure you the next four weeks will be simple. You will train, you will sleep, that is it. There will be no _drama_ ," he layers the word with disgust, "no infighting or petty squabbles or backstabbing. You are a team. You will work as a team. You will succeed as a team. And yes, I will be giving this same speech again to the whole team, but I don't think it will hurt any of you to hear it twice."

Softening slightly, he continues, "I know what you two have gone through to get here." He tilts his head toward Lauren and Payson, though his eyes do not fall on the latter. "And how much you want to defend your title," he says to Kelly. "Believe me when I say there is nothing I want more than for you all to succeed. I just need to know one thing: are you with me?" Sasha reaches a fist toward them and holds it steady. "Team USA?"

"Team USA," Lauren echoes, placing a hand on top of Sasha's closed fist.

"Team USA," Payson lines her voice with determination as she slaps a hand on Lauren's and shoots a glance at Sasha.

"Team USA," Kelly says, after a slight pause, the slap of her skin completing the pact.

They throw up their clenched hands after Sasha's three count.

"Usual warm up," Sasha pushes the sleeves of his long grey t-shirt up to his elbows and checks his clipboard, "then beam first."

As Lauren and Kelly head over to the mats, keeping the width of a bus between them, Payson waits, arms folded, a few feet from Sasha. "I can't believe the NGO finally did something that made actual sense," she jokes, but with far less jubilation than she would have used had she been told about the appointment before finding Sasha in this mood today.

Sasha doesn't ignore her outright but the brief nod and tiniest of smiles he affords her don't exactly encourage Payson to follow up her comment.

"Guess I'll go then," Payson says.

"Fine," Sasha frowns at his clipboard, "I'll be over in a minute; I just need to get the compulsory sheets."

"Compulsory sheets?"

"Yes," is all the explanation Sasha offers.

"But Worlds doesn't require compulsory routines anymore," Payson pushes.

"I am aware of that."

"Then wouldn't it be smarter to work on our actual routines since we're so close to Worlds instead of wasting time on compulsories that don't count?" Payson's accusation comes out louder than intended. It carries, drawing the attention of half the gym.

Sasha stands as rigid as a coiled snake. "Until it says 'coach' on your jacket, I would appreciate not being told how to do my job," he says, coldly, loud enough for the watching gymnasts to hear his derision. "Now, go do your warm up." He stalks away and Payson can't decide if she's more hurt, embarrassed, or angry. As she walks across to the beam, anger starts to draw ahead.

"Trouble in paradise?" Kelly asks innocently, stretching her quad as Payson joins her and Lauren.

"Seriously not in the mood, Kelly," Payson barks back, yanking her leg into a hamstring stretch and grimacing at the floor.

Kelly ignores the warning. "Not a good week for Rock romance, huh?" she continues in her most annoying sing-song voice. "I mean, first future Mommy Tanner disappears without a trace and now you and Coach Cradle Snatcher look headed for divorce court. I don't know how either of you can concentrate on anything else," Kelly pulls out a pitying expression, "and with Worlds so close. Such a shame." She shakes her head sorrowfully and then suddenly brightens. "Oh well," she shrugs, "at least I'll be in Rio to pick up the medals you're both too distracted to win."

"Can you just shut up!" Payson shouts, slamming her foot down and turning on Kelly, her strained temper finally snapping and snapping hard.

"What Payson means to say," Lauren interrupts, grabbing Payson by the shoulders to hold her back whilst shooting a forced smile at Kelly, "is can we talk to you in the bathroom?"

"What?" Payson shoves off Lauren's grip and turns on her, unquenched anger searching for another target.

"The talk we were going to have in the bathroom," Lauren prompts, unsubtly shrugging her eyebrows at Payson. "Remember?"

It's obvious that Payson has no idea what Lauren is talking about and Kelly, clever face morphing from argumentative to intrigued, peers curiously at them both. "If you're planning on giving me a swirly, I'll have to decline."

Lauren scoffs and gives Kelly a withering look. "Like your head would fit in the toilet."

Kelly narrows her eyes but Lauren holds the stare, refusing to blink, even with Payson muttering under her breath and trying to shake off the restraining hand Lauren has on her forearm. "Five minutes," Kelly announces, then stalks off toward the bathroom.

"Want to tell me what this is about," Payson growls.

"Stopping you throwing down with Kelly Parker, like, five minutes after Sasha said no drama?" Lauren snaps back, hands on hips.

Payson scowls at her teammate, can't formulate a response, so marches off to the bathroom too. She begrudgingly accepts that Lauren's intervention was well-timed but she's too irate to say thank you right now.

The bathroom is empty but Lauren goes through her usual routine of checking each stall before locking the main door. Payson and Kelly hover by the sinks, as far apart as the small room permits. Payson faces the mirror, arms folded.

"Look, arguing isn't going to help anyone," Lauren starts.

 _God_ , Payson thinks, _when Lauren Tanner is the voice of reason something must be wrong_.

"It's not like anyone could say any of us were friends at the moment," Lauren continues, "and that's fine because this isn't about friendship," she looks at Payson, eyes softening, "this is about being teammates."

Payson tips her head, watching Lauren's reflection.

"I know being Queen Bitch is how you roll," Lauren addresses Kelly, "and, whatever, none of my business if you like having everyone hate you, but can't you for, like, four weeks, aim the bitch-tude at people _not_ on your own team?"

Kelly's face is blank as she stares into the stall in front of her.

"Beth's head is so far in the clouds I'm surprised she hasn't got hit by a 747 yet; Drea has, like, zero experience; Hayley's been around a while but she's not exactly off the charts in any discipline: if _we_ don't keep it together then we've got no chance in hell at making the team finals let alone winning a medal and I am damn well not throwing away everything I've - we've - worked for."

Payson looks at her reflection. There are black circles under each eye and she feels even more tired than she looks.

"I'm not saying we have to braid each other's hair and swap secrets, but we've got to learn to work together else we're all screwed," Lauren finishes, folding her arms and looking beseechingly between Payson and Kelly. This is the first chance she's got of proving to Payson and herself that she can have her teammates' backs, that she can change, and she's not about to let the opportunity slip past.

Gripping the sink, letting rationality beat down emotion, Payson feels her lightning strike temper drop from boiling to simmer. Not a word of this conversation has gone unheard by Kelly, though she has shown no reaction. Before either of them can speak, a fist hammers three times on the door.

"Thought I'd just remind you we have a world championship to train for, not that I want to interrupt," Sasha's sarcastic voice rings through the door.

"Sorry, Coach," Kelly responds first, her usual vapid sneer in place, "just talking to my teammates." Suddenly, her eyes become so clean of sarcasm that Lauren and Payson exchange a shocked glance.

"You're in?" Lauren murmurs, suspicion tinting the beginnings of triumph.

Kelly turns to the mirror and adjusts her bunches. "I'm in," she announces, then strides from the bathroom.

"And you?" Lauren studies Payson.

Kaylie, Emily, Becca are gone, and Payson doesn't recognise Sasha today; _maybe it is time to make a pact with some devils_ , she thinks, staring at her reflection.

"I'm in."

* * *

Practice goes quickly if awkwardly for Payson since gossiping is one aspect of the Rock that has not changed and she and Sasha are the topic of more than a few conversations. Still, she's coped with worse. The late afternoon heat is a shock after ten hours being blasted by air-conditioning and Payson shivers as she pushes the front door open and hurries outside. "Kelly, wait," she calls.

"If you want relationship advice, may I suggest withholding sex until he stops acting like an asshole," Kelly says lightly, as she pauses on the sidewalk, gym bag on her shoulder, car keys in hand. "Sorry, force of habit," she sighs, remembering their truce. "What's up?"

Payson studies Kelly's face. "Why did you agree?"

A fall on bars dislodged Kelly's trademark bunches so her hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail. "To the whole truce thing?"

"Yeah."

The side of Kelly's mouth curls up. "Took you long enough to ask. But then I guess you have been a little distracted today what with your boy going through his man-struation cycle."

Amusement at the description fights to bloom on Payson's face; she beats it away and remains stoic.

Kelly watches her for a while then shrugs. "I'm former national champ. I'm current world champ. Might be nice to add a team gold to my already very large medal collection. And, though god knows I've tried to figure out a way, I can't win one of those on my own." She finishes with another airy shrug, swinging her car keys round her middle finger.

This time, Payson does smile. Self-interest, now that's a Kelly Parker personality trait she recognises.

Kelly notes the expression and smiles too. "Thought you'd like to know things hadn't gone totally Twilight Zone today," she turns to leave, then pauses, "but, who knows, I'm twenty in five weeks. Maybe I'm going soft in my old age." It could be a trick of the early evening light, but Payson thinks she sees something almost like vulnerability in Kelly's eyes.

"Maybe," Payson echoes, quietly.

Two blinks and Kelly's swaggering away, head tipped high, gym bag swinging.

"Oh, by the way," Kelly turns back, usual smirk firmly in place, "since I'm going to be here for a while, maybe we will get time to braid each other's hair."

For the first time ever, Payson Keeler and Kelly Parker share a genuine laugh.

* * *

The gym's mostly empty when Payson re-enters. The Worlds team had stayed three hours longer than the rest of the Rock gymnasts and now that they're gone too the assistant coaches are closing things up. Two of the massive overhead lights clank as they're flicked off, dimming the room to its evening atmosphere. The light in the office glows suddenly bright and Payson sets her jaw as she takes the stairs at a run.

"So, do you want to tell me what's going on?" she says on entering, calm and cold, just as he has been all day.

"Excuse me?" Sasha replies. He's at his desk, apparently absorbed in a stack of scribbled notes.

Payson walks up to the edge of the desk, folds her arms and glares down at him. "What's going on?" she repeats.

Something finally flickers in Sasha's stone face though Payson can't read what it is.

"Nothing's going on," he says, still frowning intently at his work.

"Right," Payson says, coldly, snatching Phoebe's leash from the desk and crouching down to attach it to _her_ dog; the hell is she thinking of Phoebe as _their_ dog right now. "So I guess that whole 'we can talk about anything no matter how awkward or embarrassing' thing only works when _I'm_ the one admitting something awkward or embarrassing. Good to know, _Coach_ ," she spits the last word as she stands and turns away, a quiet Phoebe following beside her.

"Payson."

Payson pauses in the doorway.

"Payson."

She keeps her back to the office. "What?" she barks, digging a bare toe into the carpet.

"I'm sorry." It's Sasha's voice – his real voice – that she hears. "You're right," he says softly, "we should talk."

Warily, Payson backs away from the door and drops down on the black couch. Phoebe hops up next to her and Payson's glad of the little dog's support.

Sasha remains at his desk but his papers have been put aside. "I've been an arse to you today," he sighs, looking out onto the shadowed gym.

"Total ass," Payson corrects as she strokes Phoebe.

Sasha puffs out a half-smile. "Total arse," he accepts, "and I'm sorry."

"You said that already," Payson murmurs. In her peripheral vision, she sees Sasha stand, walk over to the window, and lean a hand against the glass.

"I guess I was just...I was trying to protect you."

That has Payson sitting up straight. "Trying to protect me?" she says, incredulous.

Sasha's caught in a blind spot of the desk lamps; his body is lurking in shadow. "I know, I know, complete arse," he sighs, finally turning to face her, though he keeps his eyes on the carpet, "but I was worried about the appearance of any favouritism; I didn't want you to have to deal with even more gossip."

Payson ruffles Phoebe's fur as the dog snuggles against her side. "And you thought ignoring me and embarrassing me in front of everyone would stop them gossiping about us?"

"I'll admit, not my best plan." Sasha walks back into the light, considers sitting beside Payson, but perches on the edge of his desk instead.

"You think?" Payson shakes her head. "Why didn't you just treat me like normal?"

Sasha stiffens slightly, bracing the desk either side of him with tight fingers. "Because," he pauses, exhaling deeply to the ceiling, "because my normal for you isn't my normal for everyone else."

When Payson looks up at Sasha this time, he meets her eyes. "I don't understand what that means."

Running a hand roughly through his hair, Sasha shrugs again. "Me neither, really," he sighs. Now he's looked at her, he isn't looking away. "I have a different coaching rapport with you than I do with all the other gymnasts. It's," he pauses, "it's hard to explain."

"Try."

All the main lights in the gym are now off. Through the office windows, the air is black. It feels as if they're in a yellow bubble, floating above the rest of the world.

Sasha's deep frown when he answers is troubled. "I consider you a friend, Payson. A good friend."

Payson's gaze doesn't falter even though her body tenses. "I consider you a good friend too," she admits, "when you're not acting like an arse." She deliberately puts her terrible British accent into use on the last word; sure enough, it lights a smile from Sasha. He sobers quickly. "What's wrong with us being friends?" she asks quietly, almost embarrassed by the seemingly childish question.

Sasha looks at her, looks at the ceiling, opens his mouth, then just sighs. "Any other life, us being friends would be enough to have your mom calling the cops," he remarks, rubbing his forehead and looking at the floor.

That falls heavy on Payson. Any allusion to their age difference usually sparks annoyance; it's harder to feel that when Sasha's speaking the truth. Payson gives Phoebe another stroke, then stands up, watching her feet as they walk over to the desk and stop in front of Sasha, who tenses so quickly she feels the air constrict.

"This isn't any other life," Payson murmurs. With a steady finger, she guides Sasha's chin back up. In the warm light, his eyes are deep. Sometimes Payson does forget his age, the life he led before they met. "And the cops can go to hell." She says it so deadpan that Sasha bursts out laughing and Payson enjoys feeling the shake of his jaw before drawing her hand away.

Kindness has slipped back between them, has suffocated the distance of earlier. Still, something has definitely shifted, Payson just can't name what it is.

"I really am sorry for how I treated you today," Sasha says slowly, regret etched across his face.

"Thank you," Payson accepts the apology this time. "And I'm sorry I criticised you in front of the others; it was unprofessional of me."

Sasha blinks slowly. "Thank you."

Payson is still standing in front of Sasha, so close her thighs are nearly brushing his knees. Their private cocoon in this dim office feels so safe that Payson almost forgets herself, is half stepping toward Sasha before she remembers what such an action cost last time. She redirects herself in time, sits instead on his desk next to him. She doesn't see that he was leaning forward himself, had his hands poised to catch her waist.

"So," Payson says, deliberately louder, fearing her thumping heart is echoing in the silent gym. "If I agree not to criticise your coaching in front of the others, will you agree to treat me exactly the same as the rest of the team when we're in here?"

Beside her, Sasha breathes out deep before he speaks. "I think that could work," he agrees, faint smile touching his calmer face.

It's been a long, stressful day, and Payson never professed to being that smart. She lets her head fall against Sasha's shoulder. He stills for a moment and she waits for him to shrug her off, retreat into the cold manner he's used as a shield all day. When his arm settles round the back of her waist, Payson closes her eyes and sinks against him.

"Think there's someone else I have to apologise to as well," Sasha murmurs.

Payson smiles without opening her eyes, feeling the rumble of Sasha's voice through her cheek. "Think it's going to take more than an I'm sorry," she warns with a chuckle.

They both look down together to where Phoebe has settled at the feet. The small dog is sitting on her haunches and looking up at her owners with wide brown eyes as if demanding to know why they're ignoring her.

Sasha sweeps down to scoop her up, his big hands holding her like a football. "Do you forgive me too?" he asks, shooting a smile at Payson.

"I don't know," Payson reaches over to pet Phoebe as the dog wriggles around with delight at all the attention, "I'm thinking some bribery might be needed."

"Is that right?" he play-frowns at Phoebe and then watches Payson's half smile. "I suppose I can live with that."


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

"Still say it's a weird name for a dog," Kelly announces, as Beth plays with Phoebe.

The four Worlds team members are sitting on the sidewalk outside the Rock, basking in the mid-morning sun, their various coloured training leotards shining bright.

"Let me guess," Lauren says, hands behind her, legs stretched out into the road, "you're more of a cat person?"

Kelly, sitting next to her in the same position, with equally large sunglasses covering half her face, scoffs. "Of course. Cats have more class."

"So why would they want to hang around you?" Lauren smirks as she tilts her face to the sun.

"Well, I can see why you'd like dogs; anything that slobbers all over you gets two thumbs up, right, Lo?"

"Can you two quit arguing?" Payson, sitting on the other side of Kelly, aims a glare at them both, "I'm trying to talk to Kaylie." She uncovers her cell and turns away. "Sorry, Kaylie, you were saying?"

"We're not arguing," Kelly assures, though Payson is paying her no attention, "we're bantering."

"It builds team morale," Lauren chips in.

Kelly pulls her sunglasses down her nose and deigns to look at Lauren. "Team morale?" she drawls, "you really are a born again 'team gal', aren't you?"

Lauren lazily stretches her tired body in the sun. "Still gonna kick your ass on beam, Parker," she grins at the sky.

Kelly snorts and pushes her sunglasses back into place. "Must be nice to have such a powerful imagination, Tanner."

"Don't you have one too?" Lauren asks, innocently. "I hear imaginary boyfriends are the only type you can get."

"Maybe you can give me lessons on stealing them from my best friends."

"First you'd have to have some best friends."

Sasha's given them all a twenty minute break and Kelly and Lauren have spent ten minutes of the allotted time insulting each other. They both issue a relaxing sigh.

"I have an Aunt called Phoebe," Beth suddenly says. She's sitting at the end of the row beside Lauren playing with Phoebe. "She's a human though, not a dog."

"Thanks for clarifying that," Kelly drawls.

"No problem," Beth says, completely missing the sarcasm.

Lauren giggles.

"That was Kaylie," Payson announces as she hangs up her cell.

"No kidding," Kelly says.

Payson, sitting on the edge of the curb, feet in the street, chin resting on her knees, ignores her teammate.

"She ok?" Lauren asks, aiming for nonchalance and hitting desperation; things between her and Kaylie are still strained after the photo confession.

"She's got a gig," Payson says, frowning at little at the unfamiliar words.

"Seriously?" Lauren sits up, looking over a still sprawling Kelly at Payson. "With Damon?"

"Yeah," Payson nods as she clicks her neck. "Damon's band, Forever the, um, something? I can't remember. Anyway, he's invited her to sing on a couple of songs. She wasn't going to do it but she's changed her mind."

"When is it?"

"Tonight at Brightside." Payson's mind has already anticipated Lauren's next question and is trying to work out the answer.

"Are we going?"

It's just under three weeks until Worlds. They've been putting in twelve hour days, proving right Sasha's prediction that they would be spending their time training, sleeping and nothing else. Could thirty minutes - an hour tops - at a local coffee bar really put their Worlds fate in jeopardy?

"It would be fun to see her on stage and I know she'd appreciate the support," Payson says, slowly.

Lauren sits up straighter. "And it'd be good for us all to have a break from the Rock." She's already planning on attending but she doesn't want to go without Payson.

"I guess," Payson says, frowning in thought.

"Gymnast to rock star? God, that is so low-rent MTV," Kelly mutters, clicking about five joints as she sits up.

"Get crazy, get loud," Beth starts to sing the Jersey Shore theme, picking up Phoebe's front paw to make the little dog fist pump.

Kelly stares. "When I said I was 'in', _they_ ," she jabs a finger at a bouncing Beth and Phoebe, "were not included in the deal."

"Too late," Lauren shoots her teammate a shit-eating grin. "This one can land an Amanar in her sleep," she taps Beth on the head, "and this one's our mascot," she taps Phoebe. "Also, we can use her to distract Sasha whenever that vein in his forehead starts to throb."

"Hmmm," Kelly looks at them all as if wondering whether she should demand proof of sanity.

Payson checks the clock on her phone. "Break's over," she sighs, getting up. The others follow her lead, grumbling but already preparing their minds for the next training session.

"Isn't that your dad, Lauren?" Beth asks.

Lauren, taking great delight that she towers over the four foot six Beth, looks at where Beth is pointing. Sure enough, Steve Tanner has just rounded the side of the main building with another man.

"Who's he with?" Payson asks, just as Kelly says, "you have got to be kidding."

"You know that guy?" Payson asks, as the four of them pause by the main entrance. Steve is waving to get their attention.

"Unfortunately," Kelly mutters. Payson doesn't like the seriousness she sees in Kelly's face.

"Morning, girls," Steve says brightly. He's in business mode, dressed to impress and primed to suck up. "I would like you to meet Marcus Collins, our new NGO liaison. I was just showing him round our excellent facility and explaining how much the national team is benefiting from training here." He looks pointedly at the girls. Lauren, a lifetime spent learning the silent language of politicking from her father, immediately starts telling Marcus - can I call you Marcus? - how wonderful the Rock is and how it's so much better than any other facility she's ever trained in, especially Denver Elite, which, though she hates to talk badly about other gyms, really needs to be dragged into the twenty-first century before it can even be considered for a national team training designation.

Marcus, ostensibly listening to Lauren serenade the wonder that is the Rock, is watching them all. He's brown haired, sharp eyed, and even Payson can tell his suit didn't come off any rack.

"Glad to hear you're all so happy here," he says, with the smooth voice each gymnast has come to associate with NGO representatives. "And it's nice to meet you all in person, though Kelly and I are, of course, old friends."

Kelly, standing behind Payson, looks like someone's run a lawnmower over her foot.

"Why don't we go inside?" Steve cuts in before Kelly can say anything that might harm the great impression Steve plans making on this guy. "There's something Marcus wants to talk to you all about." He opens the door and gestures them all to enter. Lauren attends Marcus, continuing to wax lyrical about the Rock.

Payson hangs back. "Does Sasha know about this?" she says quietly to Steve. Just like Lauren made promises to her, she knows Steve made them to Sasha, and Payson isn't about to sit by whilst Steve starts conspiring with NGO reps again and undermining Sasha's authority.

"He's waiting for you all in the office," Steve assures. There's honesty in his expression so Payson follows without further questioning, though she's still on alert.

The bustling gym quiets a little as they all walk in, then murmured suppositions break out as the group heads up to the office. The girls settle themselves on the black couch whilst Phoebe trots over to her basket. Payson notes the slight sneer on Marcus' face at the dog's presence.

"I see you've all met," Sasha says, offering them all a smile that Payson sees straight through. He's standing at the office window with Kim.

"You have a great facility here, Coach Belov, just as I was expecting," Marcus allows, shaking Sasha's hand. "Ellen always spoke highly of the Rock."

At the mention of Ellen Beals name tension runs through the room.

"Where is Coach Beals?" Lauren poses the question all the girls are thinking.

The adults exchange looks. "She's been...reassigned," Kim says, carefully, and leaves it at that.

Payson flicks her gaze over to Sasha; he's already looking at her, attempting – and entirely failing at – a smile of reassurance.

"...delightful cup of coffee, Kim, thank you," Marcus is enthusing when Payson's attention returns to the rest of the room.

Kim's mouth smiles while her eyes narrow. "No problem, Marcus, can I get you another?"

"Actually, would you and Steve mind giving us the room? I'd like to talk to the girls."

Kim does mind being kicked out of her own office quite a lot, actually, but she concedes without a fight for Payson's sake. She picks up Phoebe and grabs a couple of plastic bags from her desk. "Come on, Steve, you can poop-a-scoop."

The expression on Steve's face is almost worth having to deal with the NGO's latest viper and the girls chuckle as he leaves with Kim, eyeing the plastic bags Kim's shoved in his hand like they're about to bite.

"Now," Marcus drags their attention back to him, "I realise that your time is exceedingly valuable so I won't take more than a minute."

Sasha remains over by the internal window, arms tightly folded. He's wearing the same scowl he always adopted in Ellen Beals' presence. The comparison doesn't exactly fill Payson with confidence.

Marcus stands before the girls as if he's about to deliver a sermon. Kelly's positioned herself on the sofa as far away from him as possible.

"The NGO have every faith that you will do yourselves and your country proud in Rio. You are all exceptional athletes and you have our unwavering support. However, the women's national team has had some, shall we say, unfavourable press in recent months." Marcus is attempting impartiality but there is a contemptuous sneer at the edge of his eyes that Payson doesn't miss. "Now, I realise that the main culprits of the unfortunate incidents are no longer with us - and that the bad reputation this team has accrued can somewhat be blamed more on gossip than actual reprehensible activity - but still..." Marcus so pointedly looks at Payson that his meaning couldn't be more obvious if he wrote it on the scoreboard.

"What Marcus is trying to say..." Every word out of Sasha's mouth grates with the pressure of not kicking this guy's ass out of his gym, and he would surely receive some assistance since both Payson and Lauren are furious at the description of Kaylie and Emily as the 'main culprits of unfortunate incidents'.

"What I'm trying to say," Marcus smarms a smile at everyone as if he hasn't just infected the room with a tension it hasn't felt since Sasha got back, "is that the National Gymnastics Organisation..."

"We know what NGO stands for," Kelly says, in her best sarcastic little girl voice.

"Of course," Marcus shows her a row of perfect teeth. "We at the NGO," he bows at Kelly, whose face darkens, "are doing a little damage control to ensure that your achievements at Worlds aren't overshadowed by events off the mat. And in that spirit, we have something we'd like you all to sign."

With this he turns to Summer's old desk and opens a briefcase. "This," he announces, waving a sheaf of paper as if brandishing the emancipation proclamation, "is the newly enacted NGO Honor Code." His smile is so smooth that Payson wants to punch him.

"It states that each of you pledge to concentrate all your energies solely on gymnastics; that you will neither engage in paid employment nor socialise outside of officially sanctioned national team activities nor act in any way that may bring yourselves or your teammates into disrepute, for the duration of your appointment to Team USA."

Silence follows this extraordinary pronouncement.

"Is this a joke?" Payson breaks the tense quiet.

"I can assure you this is most serious, Miss Keeler. I'm sure you understand how vital the team's reputation is this close to the premier event in competitive gymnastics." Marcus, either by nature or practice, has condescension coating his voice.

"We've been training all day every day; we barely go home," Lauren says, disbelief threatening to take over her face. "Why are we being punished?"

"This isn't a punishment, Miss Tanner," Marcus says, round a chuckle that's like nails on a chalkboard.

"But isn't this the same thing Emily had to sign after what happened at trials?" Payson asks, refusing to use the word 'arrested'.

A flicker of annoyance escapes Marcus' tightly controlled demeanour. "Miss Kmetko's unfortunate run in with the law at trials merely made clear the necessity of this code; we wouldn't want anything like that to happen again, would we? A lot has been invested in you girls."

"So this is about money," Kelly breaks her silence, face covered in disdain, "what a shock."

"Let me assure you, Miss Parker, that money is the last of our concerns."

Kelly scoffs so loudly at Marcus' snapped comment that Sasha steps in before anything else can be said.

"Is the men's team signing?" He stops beside the couch.

"Since the men's team includes a current Olympic champion and two former World champions we thought we would trial it on the women's team before making it policy across the board," Marcus says, glancing at his watch.

"How is that fair?" Payson bursts out. Since she's sitting on the end of the couch, within reach of Sasha, he automatically rests a hand on her shoulder, both as support and restraint. Marcus raises a snide eyebrow at the action.

"Like I said," he says, still glaring contempt at Sasha, "I don't want to take up too much of your time. As you can see," he places the contract on Summer's old desk, "Aundrea and Hayley have already signed so, if you can all mark your signatures beside your names, I'll let you get back to training."

No one moves to accept the proffered pen.

"And if we don't sign?" Lauren asks, mouth set in a line.

Marcus pulls out his shark smile again. "I'm fairly certain there are six other girls with national team jackets who will."

* * *

"Asshole is not a strong enough insult. That guy is like the freakin' Grand Canyon of assholes," Lauren seethes, pacing back and forth in the bathroom.

Payson's leaning against the locked door, Kelly's perched on the edge of a sink, and Beth's sitting on the closed lid of one of the toilets.

"I can't believe the men's team doesn't have to sign it; how sexist is that?" Payson says, brow muscles aching from scowling.

"I thought Coach Belov was going to stab Mr Collins with his own pen," Beth chimes in.

"He should have done," Kelly mutters.

Sasha excused them for another twenty minute break after they all scrawled their names where directed, each resenting every letter they were writing. Payson suspects his temper needs time to cool off as much as theirs do. "How do you know Marcus anyway?" she asks the question they've all been wondering.

Kelly's expression turns to thunder. "Bastard's been at the NGO for years. When I sued my mom for emancipation and control of my money a couple of years ago, he took her side, claimed I was experiencing mental fatigue and shouldn't be considered capable of making such decisions." Knuckles turning white, she grips the basin she's leaning on.

"Why would he do that?" Payson asks.

"Because my mom let the NGO dictate which sponsorship deals I took and the NGO made damn sure they got a cut."

"Is that legal?" Beth asks, half distracted by the flower she's folding out of some toilet paper.

Lauren pauses in front of the stall where Beth's sitting and peers in at the fifteen-year-old with a pitying look. "You really did just tornado straight in from the farm, didn't you?"

"Lo," Payson hisses, "not helping." She pushes herself off the door. "Let just say," she tells Beth, leaning into the stall, "the NGO lives by the phrase 'it's all legal unless you get caught'."

"Yeah," Kelly scoffs, "just like every other professional sports body in America."

The four girls sit and stand and pace and fold in silence for a while.

"I guess it's not that much different to Sasha's whole no-dating rule?" Lauren says, remembering she promised herself she was going to be more rational. "Not that he's mentioned that rule in ages but..."

"Sasha makes rules that he thinks will help us," Payson reacts defensively. "The NGO just want to control us; they don't give a crap about us as individuals."

"It sucks about Kaylie Cruz's concert tonight," Beth remarks, still concentrating on her origami flower. "That you can't go, I mean."

Payson and Lauren exchange a look; they hadn't even thought of that.

"It counts as socialising outside of officially sanctioned national team activities, right?"

"We can't," Payson warns before the others can even suggest it.

"No one tells me how to live my life anymore," Kelly announces, more to herself than anyone else, so much pain in her tone that Payson has an inexplicable urge to hug her.

Lauren, mind already delving back into the devious depths she's been forced to keep it out of for days, raises an eyebrow at Payson. "How would the NGO find out?"


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

"Do we need to go over the plan again?"

"Yes, Payson, because in the past five minutes we've been lobotomised; pretty please, tell us the plan again." Kelly rolls her eyes as the three of them push through the crowd outside of Brightside Coffee House.

"Pay, it's gonna be fine," Lauren reassures, before Payson can launch into another argument – mostly with herself - about how this is a terrible idea and that they shouldn't be here, but since the NGO are treating them like slaves, why the hell should the team respect that insulting contract. "Kaylie told you her set started at 9. It's quarter before now and we'll be out by nine thirty."

Still warring between acquiescence and rebellion, Payson digs some bills out of her jeans pocket to cover the door charge, and follows Lauren and Kelly into the coffee house, though warehouse would be a better description since technically the place used to be one. A stage looms at the far end and a bar stretches along one wall. It's already packed with people and strobe lights flash across the high ceiling. Music pounds through the dark atmosphere.

"Kinda louder than I was expecting," Payson shouts at Lauren. "I thought this was supposed to be a coffee house?"

"By day. They turn it into a club at night," Lauren yells back.

 _Well_ , Payson thinks, _at least it's a dry bar; no one can accuse of us of underage drinking_. She could definitely use some kind of drink though; the warehouse is stifling hot and the jacked open fire exits are doing little to ease the humidity of a couple of hundred sweating bodies.

"There's Austin!" Grabbing Payson's hand, Lauren drags Payson through the throngs of standing, dancing, swaying people. Kelly follows behind, parting the crowds with the sheer force of her contempt.

"Ladies," Austin greets them with a broad smile. He's commandeered a spot right beside the stage. He's not alone.

"Max!" Lauren squeals, throwing her arms round his neck. "I didn't know you were going to be here!"

"Never say no to a potential photo opportunity," Max shouts, holding up his camera. "Say 'World Champs'!"

Kelly and Lauren automatically lean in either side of Payson, all bright smiles, but she flaps her hand to stop Max before he can press the shutter button. "No! No evidence that we were here!"

"Flying under the radar, huh?" Max leans down to direct the words into Payson's ear. She flinches back whilst trying to remain polite; isn't this guy supposed to be interested in Lauren? She's suddenly very glad he opted to join Denver Elite instead of the Rock.

"Something like that," she says, through a thin smile.

"Keeler!" Kelly's bark is accompanied by a tug of the arm. Payson willingly goes with her.

"Tell Mr Sunglasses I'm not kidding about this honor code bullshit!" Kelly has to shout since the three of them are standing adjacent to a stack of speakers and their ear drums are under assault.

"It's true!" Payson asserts, as Austin ducks his head down to hear her.

"And you still came tonight?" Austin frowns between Kelly and Payson. "I'm surprised Sasha was okay with that."

"Sasha doesn't know," Kelly shrugs dismissively, but Payson isn't as quick to ignore the look of concern that's filtering over Austin's face.

"What is it?" Payson says, slowly.

Austin scratches his forehead. "Well…"

Someone taps on Payson's shoulder and her eyes flare as the scent of a very familiar cologne reaches her nose.

"Good evening, ladies," Sasha greets, far too brightly, as Payson and Kelly turn to find their coach standing right behind them.

"Maybe we _should_ go over the plan again," Kelly mutters under her breath.

Lauren, already making out with Max, tries to bat Payson's hand away when it starts jabbing hard at her shoulder.

"Hello?! Can we get a little priva...Coach!" Lauren shoves Max away from her so hard he stumbles into a neighbouring group and nearly falls over. "This is so _not_ what you think!" she babbles up at Sasha.

"Oh, it's not, is it? How stupid of me! Isn't my face red. So, this _isn't_ you on a date and you two," he aims his scary smile at Payson and Kelly, "at an unsanctioned social activity. Well, that certainly is a relief," his sarcastic chirpiness starts to falter as his voice gets louder, "because if this was you lot breaking the NGO honor code ten hours after you'd signed the bloody thing then we'd all be pretty damn screwed right now!"

The group who got a face full of a falling Max is watching them, eager for potential fight entertainment; it's the only reason Sasha curbs his temper.

"Have you all lost your minds?" he hisses at them. "And who the hell are you?" he snaps at Max as the younger man regains his balance.

"That's…"

But Sasha, vision adjusting to the flashing dance lights, doesn't need Austin to complete the introduction.

"You're Max Spencer."

"Hi, Coach Belov," Max sounds genuinely pleased that Sasha recognises him, which doesn't do much to improve Payson's perception of his intelligence.

Sasha ignores the male gymnast and glowers at Lauren. "So not only are you on a date, you're on a date with a member of the men's national team?!"

"Ok, so, technically? It's not a date." Lauren tries her 'I'm too cute to yell at' face.

"Technically it's not a date, she says," Sasha chuckles, scrubbing at his hair and looking around the rest of them as if he can't quite believe he's in this conversation.

"Totally _not_ a date," Max agrees, deciding now would be the perfect time to offer Payson a rakish wink.

"Oh my god, are you hitting on her _in front of me?!_ " Lauren shrieks, punctuating the last four words with slaps to Max's arm, as Payson finds herself shoved behind Sasha.

"Well, this is better than dinner theatre," Kelly smirks, arms folded, surveying the scene.

"Okay, we're gonna go get a drink," Austin launches himself between Max and a still flailing Lauren, and drags his teammate away, verbally berating him with an impressive assortment of expletives.

In as much as you can suffer an awkward silence in the middle of a heaving warehouse full of concert-goers and musicians tuning their instruments, one settles over the remaining four Rock members.

"Back to the point," Sasha bites out, hustling the girls toward a recess under a flight of stairs. "What the hell were you all thinking coming here?"

Payson looks up at him, unsure of whether she's apologetic or not. "We came to see Kaylie."

"Do you have any idea how much trouble you would be in if the NGO knew you were here?" Worry overcomes Sasha's anger as he looks down at his three gymnasts.

"We were only going to stay for a couple of songs," Lauren offers, pulling out the big innocent eyes routine again.

"Not really the point, Lo," Payson sighs and receives a glare, half of which she's pretty sure she can blame on Max's ill-timed flirting.

"Definitely not the point." Sasha scrubs a hand over his face, seemingly at a loss.

Suddenly, the strobe lights twist to focus on the stage, plunging the already dim warehouse into concert-dark. The piped in music falls silent allowing the buzz of voices to rise loud. Cheers and applause are soon added when the band jogs onto the stage and the crowd surges forward.

"One song," Lauren turns to Sasha, gripping his sleeve. "Please," she begs, "can we just stay for one song? Then we're gone, I promise! And you can make me do as many rope climbs tomorrow as you want and I won't even complain!"

Sasha looks at her, then at Kelly, then finally at Payson. He already finds the entire honor code thing ridiculous; why not give the girls five minutes leeway before he has to enforce the damn thing? "I need my head read," he sighs, with a tired smile.

Squealing, Lauren dives back into the crowd, eager to be near the front so Kaylie can see her. Kelly follows, throwing a "she better sing better than she vaulted or I want a refund," over her shoulder.

"One song!" Sasha barks after them, then shakes his head and smiles wryly down at Payson. "When did I become such a pushover?"

Payson slips her arm into his and gives his upper arm a little knock with her chin. "You're not a pushover, you're just sweet."

"Brilliant," Sasha rolls his eyes and pats Payson's hand, "just what every coach wants to be known as."

Kaylie's voice smoothly rises over the instruments. Her melodic tone contrasts with Damon's husky bass producing an effective combination.

As usual in a crowded room, Payson's height means her vision is mostly filled with people's shoulders. She pushes to tip-toe, trying to get a better view of the stage.

"Come on." Sasha takes her hand and uses his six foot one body to force a path through the tightly packed mass. Payson keeps close to his back, smiling a little shyly at the sensation of his fingers holding so tightly to hers.

Lauren did a good job of getting close to the front; it takes them a while to locate her and Kelly amidst the press, especially when the band moves to an uptempo number and Damon hollers down the microphone for everyone to jump.

"Watch it!" Payson exclaims as a bouncing idiot knocks into her, his two hundred pound plus bulk making her stagger. She's quick to regain her footing, but Sasha's hands are quicker, grabbing both sides of her waist and tugging her in front of him, a protective arm anchoring tight across her stomach.

"You okay?" His stubble brushes against her ear.

Her heart suddenly hammering, Payson doesn't trust herself to speak. She nods instead and feels Sasha relax. Lauren and Kelly are just in front of them, so it makes sense that Sasha withdraws his arm and steps away from her a little. But Payson doesn't want sense right now. Without stopping to analyse, or look back at him, she catches Sasha's sleeve and gently pulls his arm around her again.

There's a moment of terror when he seems to hesitate and Payson feels her sweat-damp skin run cold, then, all at once, his chest is pressed up to her back, the cotton of his hoodie smooth on her bare arms, and her waist is cupped tight in the crux of his arm.

The volume of the music means it is felt as well as heard, a hypnotising pulse that lulls Payson enough that she lets her head fall back under Sasha's chin.

"Oh. Fuck."

At Kelly's exclamation, Payson's eyes - that she doesn't remember closing - fly open. Sasha drops his arm and steps to her side as she scrambles to formulate an innocent explanation for their closeness.

But Kelly isn't looking at them. Her gaze is fixed over Payson's shoulder.

"Don't look!" she hisses, slapping Sasha's arm and grabbing Payson to prevent both of them trying to locate the source of the problem.

"What is it?" Panic spiked adrenaline floods Payson's body.

"Marcus fucking Collins," Kelly snarls.

"What?" Sasha barks, instinctively rising to his full height to look, but Payson's brain is alight with white hot fear and she reacts immediately, hauling his head down, dragging his hood up and over, securing it with a yank on the drawstrings.

"Sorry," she murmurs an apology which Sasha waves away, understanding her reasoning and ducking down even further in an attempt to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.

"Oh my god, is that fucking bastard stalking us?!" Lauren, pulled over by Kelly, slides in beside Payson to use Sasha's large frame as a shield.

"No, he probably just got the same email I did," Sasha hisses, his face is hidden by the shadow of his hood.

"What email?" Payson demands but Kelly barks a "so not the time, Keeler."

"Ok, I see him," Lauren snaps. "Shit, he's headed this way. We have to go, now!" she slaps a hand around Kelly's arm and launches them into the crowd, shouting a "come on!" back at Payson and Sasha.

"Fire exit by the bar, go!" Sasha pushes Payson in front of him, spotting Lauren's destination. She needs no further urging, hurrying after the path Lauren and Kelly are cutting through the densely packed bodies. Relief teases as she sees the open fire exit, watches her teammates sprint through it, almost tastes the fresh air when, suddenly, Sasha's hand clamps hard on her forearm and wrenches her to the left.

"What the...?" she starts, but the words are lost in Sasha's chest as he drags them both to a wall, presses Payson against it, and shields her with his body. He moves in so close that she can see nothing but the front of his grey hoodie.

"Don't. Move." Sasha's lips brush against her ear. "He's right behind us." Though the air is thumping with music and cheering, Sasha is only risking a whisper. Payson swallows her panic. Sasha's heart thuds against her cheek and she clutches hard to the belt on his jeans.

All Payson's points of reference are gone; she can't hear anything, can't see anything, she can only feel. A trickle of sweat pools in the hollow of her spine just above her scar; Sasha's palms are splayed over her hips, thumbs unthinkingly working circles on bare skin where her top has ridden up; his breath is hard against her neck. Something joins panic in Payson's gut, a surge of want that she tries to force away but can't, that has her pulling Sasha tighter against her before she even realises what she's doing. Now her heart is pounding just as hard as his.

Sasha's face suddenly swims into view, hovering inches from her own. The light here is almost non-existent - and the hood throws further shadows over his features - but his attention lands on her like a searchlight. He remains perfectly still, hiding her from the rest of the room, but Payson feels the tension grow in his fingers, in his chest. In the deceptive dark she knows nothing else but him. Her hand strokes down his stubbled cheek; he's almost shaking.

Payson's last deliberate instruction to her body is to lean forward; once her lips hit his, instinct takes over. She pushes hard against him, fingers working under the hood to thread through his hair and hold him to her when he tries to pull away. Not that he tries for very long, a moment's hesitation and his defenses break. Payson feels the rush of him all over her. His fingers slip round to her back; his lips equal the force of her own. There's so much strength in how he's holding her that she feels safe enough to deepen the kiss even further. Buried in a crowd, shrouded by darkness and noise, they're aware of nothing but each other, an anonymous couple in the shadows, until the rest of the world crashes back into them. Literally.

"My bad," the blond girl shouts as, giggling, she spins her and her boyfriend away whilst rubbing her elbow, sore from its collision with Payson.

Payson freezes, fire in her blood turning to ash at the realisation of what she's just done. The room jerks and spins around her; her lips taste of salt. Sasha remains millimetres in front of her but he's severed all direct contact. Payson risks a look at his face; it's uncovered, she must have pulled the hood down in her desperation to remove all barriers between them. His skin has run white.

"Pay..."

The shape of her nickname on Sasha's lips is recognised by Payson without the need for the accompanying sound that drowns in the bass-thrumming air and she predicts the apology that will surely come next because guilt has wedged its way into Sasha's eyes alongside wild shock. It's an apology she does not want. Regaining some awareness, adrenaline surging through her again, Payson studies the crowd, can't see Marcus on her first sweep, and decides to make a run for it. She captures Sasha's hand with hers and doesn't look back.


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

Disoriented, a continuous buzz reverberating through her eardrums like she's a stereo caught in a feedback loop, Payson grips hard to Sasha's hand. The sidewalk is crowded, so many bodies, colours, movement, lights, so much visual information her brain is having trouble processing it all. The group of loitering concert goers spits them out about a block down from Brightside. Shop fronts and apartment buildings line the sidewalk; light spills in random pools from half-curtained windows and streetlights fogged with dirt.

"You want to slow down a bit," Payson calls out as her feet nearly trip over a crack in the concrete. She's got her phone clamped in her free hand, is tapping out texts to Lauren and Kelly as Sasha half drags her along. When her words have no effect, she wrenches her hand out of his grasp and stops dead.

Tugging his hood down again, Sasha wheels round, face cracked with frown lines, eyes unnaturally wide.

Payson braces herself for him to shout. He opens his mouth, then closes it, scrubs at his jaw, glances to the road, wild eyes ranging everywhere.

"Need to find you a cab," he says finally, words as hurried and firm as his feet had been.

"Why?" Payson clicks send on her texts. "Can't you just give me a ride in the truck?"

"I bought the bike." Sasha still won't look at her.

"So? I can go on the back."

Sasha scoffs a breath to the sky. "Not bloody likely."

Irritation spikes through Payson. Though she's hot, she's shivering. "Do you see any cabs?" she scowls, gesturing along the busy street beside them. Temporary stop signs are being worsened by the gathering of patrons outside Brightside who seem unable to differentiate between street and sidewalk and are clogging up both. "Or how about I just wait out here and ask Marcus if he'll give me a ride home?"

Sasha directs his annoyed glare at Payson's shoulder. "I haven't got a helmet for you and, in that top, you fall off you'll get skinned by road rash."

"I wasn't planning on falling off," Payson retorts.

"Great argument." Sasha scrubs both hands through his hair then paces a circle on the concrete. Payson watches him.

"Jesus, what was I thinking?" he suddenly bursts out, swinging his arms wide, eyes and nostrils flaring. "Why the hell would I let you all risk your careers for some concert?" He can't stand still, is shifting his weight between his feet, pulling at his hoodie, scratching his head, keeps flicking his gaze between her and the crowd, her and the sky, her and the traffic, breathing ragged.

Payson makes no answer, just continues to watch him; she's as static as he is manic.

"You don't have to do this, you know," she says, quietly.

"Do what?" he snaps back, though with more wariness than venom.

Payson tilts her head. Her eardrums hurt and her vision is still on some kind of delay but she knows panicked self-hatred when she sees it.

"Remember our deal?" Payson doesn't know where her steadiness is coming from because her heart is thumping holes in her lungs.

Under the glowing streetlight, Sasha blinks down at her. He has a line of sweat dripping from his hairline that he swipes at viciously.

"We talk about the awkward stuff?" Payson reminds, ignoring the flurry of car horns that suddenly burst from up near Brightside. "But if you really want to have a meltdown in the middle of the street, I'm not going to stop you," she offers a shrug and her perfected big sisterly look of disdain.

Sasha blinks again, glances away; when he looks back, his mask has slipped.

"Which one of us is the teenager, again?" he finally murmurs, flush of embarrassment rushing his cheeks as he tries for a smile.

Payson raises an eyebrow at him but breathes with relief. "That's what I was starting to wonder."

Though the night is loud with swearing and shouts between drivers and pedestrians fighting for jurisdiction, the air between Payson and Sasha is quiet.

"I'm sorry," Sasha murmurs, as calm now as he was paranoid two minutes ago. "I didn't hurt you did I?" he frowns suddenly, reaching for the hand he dragged her by, turning it over repeatedly and gently as he checks for damage.

"Don't flatter yourself," Payson replies without malice. "I'm the one in training; I should be asking you that question."

Sasha smiles, his eyes closing briefly.

"Really don't think I'm gonna find a cab," Payson says, bringing them back to the situation. Sasha nods, checks the road, nods again, thinking, then starts pulling off his hoodie.

"You're wearing this," he instructs, walking behind her and slipping it over her shoulders. Payson shrugs her arms into the sleeves as she follows Sasha across the street, threading between the stationary cars that are backed up about three blocks now. Her phone vibrates. Sasha's digging keys out of his jeans pockets as they reach his parked motorcycle.

"Lo's with Kelly; says they were scared to wait and knew I'd be okay with you." Payson shoots back a text explaining that she's fine and she'll call Lauren later.

"Good," Sasha acknowledges the information as he sticks the keys in the bike, then turns to Payson and zips up her borrowed hoodie. Payson rolls her eyes but lets him fuss. After checking three or four times that the sweater is covering as much of Payson's skin as possible, Sasha pauses. Standing so close together, the tension fast returns.

"We need to go."

Payson nods at Sasha's strangled words; she was halfway up on her tiptoes again, he was starting to duck his head. "Right. Leaving. Yes."

As Sasha swings a leg over the bike, Payson pulls her hair back into a ponytail, securing it with the band she usually has on her wrist then climbs on behind him.

It strikes her she should be worried; no helmet, no real jacket, a rider way too distracted to be completely competent. Instead, there's a heat running through her blood, a surge of danger that heightens when she slips her arms around Sasha's waist and brings her thighs flush with his.

"Don't let go." It's the tug in Sasha's voice, the slightly nervous pat to her clasped hands, the sheer strangeness of fleeing like fugitives in the night that further stirs the rebellion already alert in Payson. She shuffles closer, pressing into Sasha to a degree that is probably indecent as well as inappropriate, but propriety has gone, she knows that; they've crossed the boundary and now have to decide where their new boundary lies.

The engine rumbles into life, vibrating Payson's body and her abused ears. She grips a little tighter when the bike pulls away from the curb, smile creeping up her cheeks as Sasha eases between the unmoving cars and they are glared at by irritated drivers.

Once they clear the rows of vehicles, they head east, away from Brightside. Payson suspects she could run faster than Sasha is driving, but a breeze is still generated as they glide along, streaming her blonde ponytail in their wake. She turns her head, presses the side of her face to Sasha's back rather than watching the road ahead over his shoulder.

Headlights stream by like fluorescent ribbons; road signs and stores and an accompanying soundtrack of their combined heartbeats. Payson's not hypnotised enough to close her eyes, not lulled enough to throw sense of self-preservation aside but, considering she's on a motorcycle for the first time and her night has been repeatedly rocked by the unexpected, she's eased by the rhythm of the tarmac instead of panicked by the gritty threat sprinting a few feet shy of her unprotected skin.

Five minutes and they turn left, another two and it's a right turn. Payson loses track of where they are because she's indulging her concentration elsewhere; she has Sasha's back under her cheek, his stomach under her hands, and the excuse of safety on which to blame her tight hold.

The bike slows then turns again, sharper this time, a ninety degree junction under bright lights. Payson lifts her head and glances around, squinting. They've drawn into a floodlit parking lot three quarters full of cars but empty of people. Payson recognises it as the recreation area a few streets away from her house where a park and baseball diamond were built some years back.

Sasha eases the bike to a halt, kicks down the stand and stills. A moment and Payson realises he's waiting for her to release her grip, which she does, with a little flicker of embarrassment she fast dismisses. Off the bike, Payson stretches her arms to the sky and surveys the territory, hoping relaxation will come if she fakes it well enough. The baseball diamond is shining in the dark, red and white uniforms scattered across the bases and the grass, bleachers busy with spectators. It's a local league; Mark used to take Payson and Becca to watch games on the weekend. Payson feels a stab of regret for time lost with her father.

"You want to go watch?"

Payson drops her arms and turns back, blinking. "What?" the shakes her head, offers Sasha a distracted smile. "No, that's okay."

Sasha scratches his neck, fighting awkwardness too. "Sit?" he offers, gesturing at a lofted stone slab by the parking lot's chain link fence. Payson walks towards it by way of agreement.

"So..." Sasha lets Payson sit down first, hovering beside the bench for a moment before he joins her. There's a touch of humour in the word that Payson appreciates; if they treat this with total seriousness it will break them both.

"So," Payson repeats, shy smile showing too. She grips the stone seat either side of her, tapping her feet lightly against the hardened grass.

"I'm sor..."

"What did you mean earlier: about an email?" Payson interrupts quickly.

Sasha accepts her course correction, tips his head back and sighs. "I got an email from Brightside advertising the show tonight and Kaylie's name was mentioned. Thing is, I've never stepped foot in that place before, and I sure as hell don't remember subscribing to anything from it."

"Then who do you think sent the flyer?" Payson frowns, looking at Sasha's profile.

"Whoever it was must have had Marcus Collins on their mailing list too. And he showed up to see if you guys would be there," another sigh, "same as me."

Payson studies the twisted metal twine of the chain link. "We only signed that code today and someone's already setting us up to be caught violating it?"

Sasha leans his forearms on his knees and the curve of his spine becomes visible through his white henley. He looks at the scuffed grass. "So it would seem."

"But why?" There's a vulnerable thinness to her voice that Payson hates.

Around a giant sigh, Sasha says, "I called a guy I know at the NGO couple of hours ago. Bit of a war over there by all accounts."

"How so?" Payson nibbles at her lip.

A shrug, a quick glance at her, a sudden swallow. "Different opinions on how things should be run. Especially over the women's team."

Anger starts to dawn along with realisation. "And one opinion is that they want to scrap us and start again? And to do that they need a legitimate excuse."

Another sigh. "Something like that."

"Maybe _they_ should be the ones signing an honour code," Payson's lips curl with disgust. "Do they want to change the whole team or just me and Lauren?"

Sasha pauses.

"You can tell me."

"You and Lauren are associated with the Rock; like Marcus said they want distance from all the 'reprehensible behaviour'" he quotation marks.

"And what if it's one of the others who violates the code?"

Sasha smirks without humour. "Then they get to throw me to the dogs for not managing the team well enough."

"So they only appointed you in case they needed a scapegoat?" Payson's brow creases in pain at the thought of Sasha being treated like that.

Sasha raises a shoulder but offers no verbal response.

They're sitting at the edge of the lot where floodlight residue only lightly reaches; their faces and ages are distorted. To onlookers, they could be anyone, could just be a couple of kids killing time before curfew.

Sasha's looks across at Payson, pauses as he waits for a roar over at the baseball diamond to subside. "Why did you go to that gig tonight?" His question is concerned rather than accusing this time.

Payson fiddles with the jacket zip. "I told you, because I wanted to see Kaylie."

"And the real reason?"

Payson's jaw firms up as she throws a glare at Sasha. He meets it with stoicism. She's too tired to bicker, especially since he's right.

"When they made us sign that honor code? It's like they were saying we were dishonourable before." Payson frowns. Finding the words for the feeling she got when that contract was put in front of her is difficult but Sasha seems to understand what she's aiming to convey.

"Hell of a way to stick two fingers up to the NGO," Sasha says, puffing a laugh and shaking his head. His neck clicks.

"I know," Payson murmurs, staring at the ground. Shock and adrenaline are wearing off.

It must be an exciting game because the noise from the bleachers keeps bubbling and bursting. Facing away from the cars and towards the diamond, Sasha and Payson watch without seeing.

"Do you think Marcus saw us?" Payson wants the question to be strong but that damn vulnerability sneaks into her voice again.

Sasha shakes his head, an emphatic no.

"What makes you so sure?" Payson pushes, leaning forward and mirroring his position, forearms on knees.

"Because if he had, my phone would have rung about a hundred times by now," Sasha answers.

"Even if he saw you were with us?"

Sasha rolls his eyes with a disdainful chuckle. "He'd have called to fire me."

Reality settles a little harder on Payson's shoulders. "Right," she murmurs, stirrings of guilt striking.

Another minute passes. Payson guesses it must be after ten o'clock.

"Where does your mom think you are right now?"

Payson picks at her nails. "At home?" she offers. Sasha's silence is question enough.

"Becca's cheering tonight," Payson admits with a sigh, "and they were going to go for pizza after. I figured I'd be back before them and she'd never have to know."

A car guns it engine and squeals out of the lot, thumping music reigniting the residual bass in Payson's head.

"We can't keep avoiding the obvious forever," Sasha says without preamble, head dropping again with resurfacing guilt.

Psychosomatic or not, Payson licks her top lip and imagines she can still taste sweat that isn't hers.

"It'd be no good for either of us to pretend it didn't happen," Sasha continues, words careful, voice quiet.

"As long as you're not about to apologise," Payson directs the words to the ground but they still carry power.

Sasha swallows, nods, eyes tracking the deserted park beside the baseball diamond. The empty swings hang motionless. "But you understand why I feel I should?" he says eventually.

Payson stares where Sasha stares, grass dyed black by night buffering grass dyed white by floodlights. She nods. "You're thinking of my age."

"And my position as your coach; normally it would be considered an abuse of authority." Sasha is struggling now, the uncontrollable self-loathing he demonstrated back at Brightside threatening to rear again.

"Sasha," Payson murmurs, upset to see him like this. She was gearing up to be angry at his condescension, for viewing her as a child; she hadn't considered what it must feel like from his side.

Sasha looks at Payson's hand. She finds she's rubbing gentle circles on his wrist.

"I don't know what the right thing to do is here, Pay," he brokenly whispers, unable to look her in the eyes.

Payson sits up a little straighter, sensing the implications of his honesty. She wanted equality between them; she had no idea receiving it would feel this much of a burden.

"We concentrate on Worlds," she says, surprised by the resolve in her voice. "We stick to the schedule you've mapped out for us, we keep the national team tight and we kill in Rio. No one at the NGO will dare mess with a world championship gold medalist going into an Olympic year." She's still stroking Sasha's wrist. He can't look at her but he's listening, watching their entwined hands. "And no matter what, we talk before you make any decisions, especially if you think you're making them for my own good."

At that, Sasha does look up. There's clarity in his eyes; for the first time he is shielding nothing from her. She stutters, breathes out, and repays his honesty in kind. Payson can't see how her eyes change, how their usual tenacity gives way a shade to the fears and doubts she constantly fights, casting her with a blight of fragility she considers such a weakness; she just feels the touch of Sasha's palm as, frowning, he brings it up to her cheek.

"Hey, it's ok," he soothes, dusting his thumb along her jaw, and Payson senses the burden of responsibility pass between them. He will hold it for a moment while she falters, just as she did for him.

"Just," Payson stammers, sniffing back emotion, "I don't want to get to the Rock one morning and you not be there because you think it's for the best." She packs accusation into the final few words.

Sasha watches his fingers pressing into her cheek. "It might be for the best," he murmurs.

"It's running away," Payson replies, just as quiet, tears pooling in her eyelids as she reaches up and places her hand over his.

As Sasha absorbs that statement a shadow passes across his face. "I know."

The baseball diamond is a fair distance away, all eyes are on the game; they don't have the pressure of discovery to interrupt them this time. Sasha strokes his fingers once more down Payson's cheek, then takes both her hands in his.

"I won't lie to you and say that I know what the hell we're doing right now, or that I think it's anywhere near the right thing for you," Sasha, guilt and worry still weighing heavy in his eyes, leans toward Payson, rests his forehead briefly on hers with a tight sigh. "But you have my word I won't run away," he murmurs as their noses nudge together.

Payson has her eyes closed. She has no outward sensation apart from Sasha's hands on hers, his skin against her face. "Thank you," she whispers.

Their kiss lasts only seconds, could be claimed as platonic if no one could see what was in their eyes.

They sit quietly for awhile, shoulders pressed together, until, by unspoken agreement, they both stand and walk slowly back across the lot.

The baseball game is coming to an end but the ninth inning score just visible on the distant board indicates a close finish. Still, forward thinking spectators intent on avoiding post-game traffic are starting to filter out of the bleachers.

"Maybe you should get a sidecar for Phoebe," Payson tries to joke as she swings her leg over the bike.

"Maybe." Sasha's voice is suddenly gravelled with guilt again and, as Payson peers over his shoulder, she registers what he's seen; a family, two daughters around Payson and Becca's ages, walking to a station wagon, laughing about something.

Uneasiness winds through Payson. She can't lambaste Sasha for his sudden reticence; she's feeling it too, a sudden nervousness about slipping her arms round his waist.

Blinding yellow beams explode bright enough to have Payson pressing her face into Sasha's back, hands clutching his sides. In the second it takes for her to realise they are headlights from car opposite, Sasha has flicked over the engine, kicked off the stand, and bit the clutch to send the bike into first gear. Payson automatically tightens her arms all the way around his waist and it's signal enough for him to speed them out the lot and onto the street, pushing the bike faster than he did before. She's grateful; the last thing either of them needed was to be recognised. It's only a few minutes journey to her house, and she's glad the streetlights situated between the uniform trees are dim. There is no car in the driveway, so Sasha idles the bike right up to the house.

Fatigue suddenly slams into Payson, weighting every muscle, and it's hard word to peel herself from the motorcycle. She tries to shake it off by stretching arms to the cloud clear sky, but only finds herself wishing the stars were more visible. When she refocuses, Sasha is perched sideways on the bike, arms folded, staring at the ground. Shoving away hesitation, she puts her arms round his neck, steps between his open legs, completing the embrace by tucking her chin onto his shoulder. She sighs and waits.

A car rushes past behind them. Payson listens to its thumping radio disappear into the distance. Sasha's chest moves first, then his arms; his fingers fasten on her waist where they left prints earlier, his face brushes hers. His embrace is tight and determined.

"So do you think stalking is going to be NGO standard procedure from now on?" Payson says finally, turning her head so it's resting against Sasha's cheek. She feels Sasha's huffed laugh rumble through her, his tension fade a little. "For the sake of our current position I hope not."

Payson presses a kiss to Sasha's forehead, the sleeves of his hoodie covering her hands as she holds his face and looks at him. "You should probably go," she sighs.

"I know."

Payson doesn't move.

"Think I might have trouble riding the bike like this," his smile is real but Payson sees the worry still behind it. She's almost scared to let him from her sight.

"I thought you liked a challenge," she jokes instead, swallowing the urge to hug him again and not let go.

"Apparently so," he says, his insinuation not lost on either of them.

Payson steps back from the bike and folds her arms round herself as Sasha readies to leave, playing with the too long sleeves of the hoodie she has no intention of giving back.

"I'll see you in the morning," Sasha says as he revs the engine back into life.

"Day off," Payson corrects, her irrational – or perhaps rational - fear that she'll never see him again threatening to take her over.

Sasha reaches for her and runs a finger along her jaw. "I'll see you in the morning," he promises.

Payson watches the bike pull out of the driveway, the white of Sasha's t-shirt flashing as he sails under a streetlight and disappears from view. She snuggles into the hoodie that still smells of his cologne as she walks to her front door. Her phone rings.

"Hey, Kaylie," she answers after checking the caller ID, juggling her phone as she keys open the lock and gets hit by a bouncing Phoebe. "Yeah, I'm sorry we left so suddenly." Payson glances back at the dark street before she closes the door. "You're right; it's a long story..."

* * *

Thanks to living in the Rock's parking lot for close to a year, Sasha is well versed in what stores are in the vicinity.

"Just that, please," he says automatically, uttering the same unnecessary explanation he remembers his mother using every time she went up to a counter with only a single item.

The clerk rings up the purchase and Sasha hands over cash. Back home, he'd have cracked open the bottle before he'd even left the store, now he dutifully waits until he's inside his trailer before he twists off the cap and takes a long swig of Jack Daniels.

He drops onto the edge of his bed, eyes ranging over the dark interior of the Airstream like he's never seen it before. The bottle dangles between his fingers, liquid sloshing comfortingly against the glass, as Sasha dwells on what the hell he's just done.


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

Payson's sneakers make a satisfying thwack as she pounds over the bridge. The sun's resting on the ridgeline ready to spill across the sky and the canyon below warbles with the echo of the streaming river. As she runs, she tries to calculate how far away from Boulder a motorcycle can get in nine hours, worries how many state lines Sasha could have crossed by now.

Seven fifteen on a Saturday morning and her street is quiet. Payson stops in the driveway, hands on her thighs as she gets her breath back. She's about to key through the front door and hit the shower when she hears talking coming from the back yard.

"We have to tell her," her mom is saying and Payson frowns, both at the words and the tone of her mother's voice.

"I can't."

Payson stands up sharply. That's her dad; he's not supposed to be home until this afternoon.

"It's her choice, Mark. Believe me, I don't want to tell her either but she's going to find out and if she discovers there was an option we didn't discuss with her?"

Padding softly over to the side gate, Payson finds it already open. She eases through the gap and halts a few meters from the edge of the house; she suspects her parents are sitting on the deck and doesn't want to risk being seen.

"I won't go begging to my daughter for money," Mark says, so forcefully that Kim shushes him with a "Becca's still asleep."

"And I won't ask her to give up a college scholarship," he hiss-whispers.

"You think I'm happy with asking her to give that up?" Kim accuses. "But I'm not seeing any other options here. If the bank won't let us remortgage..."

Payson tenses so much that cramp creeps into her hamstrings.

"If they could just give us some more time, let me find another job..." Mark's frustration is audible.

"I've tried everyone at the bank; they won't budge. If we can't settle the outstanding mortgage payments by the end of the month they'll foreclose on the house."

Payson gasps.

"We've got a stack of red letters from the damn electric company, and Pay's medical bills have been sitting there for months, not to mention her outstanding Rock dues and the extra rental at Pike's, I just don't see how we can make the money stretch this time." Tears are streaming through Kim's voice as she falls silent and Mark starts to murmur broken reassurances.

Dazed, Payson wanders out to the driveway, out of breath from shock. She barely slept last night, she's just finished a three mile run, but still, the newly risen sun finds her sprinting down the street.

* * *

Sasha hasn't slept, he didn't even bother trying; the closest he got was almost passing out on the mats after half a bottle of Jack Daniels and two hours on the running machine. He lets the water run cold before standing under the shower head, relishing the pain as the ice drops sluice down his skin. The wall clock tells him it's ten after seven.

"Morning, boss," Chris says, as Sasha exits the locker room. "Dude, you alright?" The assistant national team coach pauses mid-stride in the corridor when he catches sight of Sasha's face.

Sasha didn't realise he looked that bad. "Fine. I'm fine, mate," he mumbles. "Just a late night."

"Event selection keeping you up, huh?" Chris sympathises.

If only it was that simple. "Yeah," Sasha sighs.

Chris waits for Sasha to continue.

"Things would definitely be easier if we still had Kaylie," Sasha says. He might as well chat about it with Chris; at least it'll distract him for five minutes. He leans against the corridor wall and folds his arms.

"You worried?" Chris takes a similar position on the opposite wall.

"I'd be happier if we had more depth. Bad things happen in threes and all that bollocks." Sasha rubs his forehead, hangover tightness pressing down on his skull.

"You think we're gonna lose another girl this close to Worlds? No wonder you look like hell." Chris offers a lopsided smile that doesn't entirely hide his concern.

Sasha tips his head back against the wall, studies the pitted ceiling tiles. "I'd feel better if I could get a straight answer outta Marty about Kelly's ankle."

"You don't think he gave her long enough for the stress fractures to heal up?"

"I very much doubt he had anything to do with the decision," Sasha rubs his head again, hoping he's got aspirin in the trailer. "Kelly would try and defend her title even if the ankle was hanging on by a piece of skin."

"Very true," Chris concedes with a nod.

Sasha sighs. "It's just Kelly won't trust me with the truth and good judgement isn't exactly Marty's strong point, especially over someone he cares about."

"He might be being economical with the truth if he thinks he's protecting her," Chris summarises.

The pair stand quietly for a moment. The last time Marty tried to protect one of his gymnasts, he gutted the Rock's roster and took it to another club weeks before Nationals. And the world had still found out about the affair with Kaylie's mom.

"Okay," Chris says suddenly, clapping his hands once, "yes, a little more backup would be nice but the others are progressing well." He counts off fingers. "Payson looks fantastic everywhere; Beth is hitting her vaults like a dream; Lauren's beam routine is consistent, even with the upped d-score; Hayley's a little workhorse; and I don't think Kelly's ankle is as bad as you're calculating."

The two men exchange looks as Chris flicks up his other thumb.

"Which leaves Aundrea..." Chris' enthusiasm falters a little.

"Which leaves Aundrea," Sasha sighs deep.

Aundrea Conway was originally slated to be an alternate. An extremely talented first year senior, Sasha had been concerned she wasn't emotionally ready to be thrown into a major championships, so planned to bring her to Rio to give her experience and - hopefully - confidence. At least that was the plan before Kaylie's departure had given him no choice but to promote the youngster to the full team.

"We need to keep her stress levels low as possible," Chris runs a hand over his tapered afro, "which, I admit, would be a hell of a lot easier without that mother of hers yelling at her all day."

Aundrea's mother, Louise Conway, is also her daughter's coach and, from their short acquaintance, is doing little to dispel Sasha's belief that parent coaches are a bad idea.

"Keeping her plate light is gonna be a hard sell; Collins has already latched onto to her marketing potential." Nausea rolls through Sasha as he remembers his brief glimpse of Marcus last night. He grits his teeth.

If Chris notices, he doesn't call Sasha on it. "Any word on the athlete's rep yet?"

"Unconfirmed rumours," Sasha replies, willing his stomach to settle.

The choice of which girls compete in which events will come down to himself, Marcus, and a representative for the athletes. Sasha just hopes whoever they get has their own opinions and won't be swayed by the NGO's agenda.

Checking his watch, Chris says, "you better get out of here, the first level two class is about to land; unless you want to face a bunch of hyperactive ten year olds that is."

Slapping his colleague on the shoulder - "thanks, mate" - Sasha heads for the main doors, digging his trailer keys from his sweatpants pocket as he walks. He'll jump on the bike and just drive for a while, try and sort out the mess in his head. His feet carry him to the edge of his fake lawn without the need for him to look ahead. When he does, adrenaline erupts.

"Payson?"

Sitting on the trailer steps, ponytailed hair wet with sweat, Payson looks up at him, eyes bloodshot and soaking.

"What's happened?" Sasha rushes forward, everything else forgotten. He crouches in front of her and cradles her hands. "Are you hurt?"

Sniffing, Payson shakes her head and tries to blink away her tears. "I need your help," she says, a broken thread running through her voice that has Sasha's blood boiling; if someone has done this to her, that someone better start running right the fuck now.

"Come inside," he says gently, helping Payson to her feet and unlocking the door. He ushers her inside and shuts the door behind them; he knows Payson's pride, she won't want the kids coming for their Saturday classes seeing her like this.

"Did you run here?" he frowns, pulling a glass of water from the sink and handing it to her.

Payson nods. She's shaking and the water tremors as she tips the glass to her mouth.

"I'm sorry to come by so early," she stammers, wiping hard at her eyes and looking away. "Especially after...it's just I didn't know where else to go."

Sasha waves away the apology and gestures for her to take a seat on the Airstream's tiny inbuilt sofa. Payson murmurs a small thanks as she lowers herself onto the very edge of the cushion. Sasha sits beside her. She's still clasping the glass.

"Can you help me get sponsorship endorsements?" she says suddenly, swinging her head to look at him.

"What?"

"My parents, I heard them talking just now." Payson closes her eyes and frowns as her words trip over each other. "I had no idea things were so bad, with my medical bills and everything. God, it must have been so much worse than they let on, and I think dad's lost his job and they were saying that they might lose the house, and I have to help them, Sasha, this is all my fault." She dissolves into tears and Sasha can't but pull her into his arms and hold her tight. He strokes her hair and whispers wordless reassurances as he tries to decipher what she's just said.

Payson gives in for a moment but then struggles against him, pulling her head up so she can speak again. "And I know I messed things up between us last night, and I didn't think you'd still be here and..."

"Payson," Sasha interrupts firmly, looking her in the eyes. "I told you I wasn't going anywhere and I meant that, ok?" He has no idea how he can sound so steady when his emotions are as messed up about last night as Payson's.

Shaking with tears, Payson studies him then slowly nods.

"Hang on." Sasha stands and retrieves a box of tissues from under the sink. "Here." He pulls one out and hands it to her, this time kneeling down in front of her. Payson scrubs at her face with the tissue - never gentle on herself - then starts turning it over and over in her fingers until pieces start to flake off.

"Can you start from the beginning?" Sasha prompts, gently.

Swallowing a few times, then coughing, Payson stares at the rapidly disintegrating tissue as she explains exactly what she overheard. When she's through, the tissue is just tiny bits of white littering the carpet. "They need the money Sasha but they don't feel they can ask me to give up my NCAA eligibility."

Sasha nods: that's the conclusion he's reached too. Kim had mentioned some outstanding medical bills but she'd joked the issue away when Sasha had asked if it was a problem.

"I still can't believe dad didn't tell me he lost his job. He promised after last time he'd never lie to me," Payson murmurs, frown lines cutting across her forehead.

"Your father's a proud man, Payson, I'm sure he just doesn't want you to think less of him," Sasha says, dabbing a fresh tissue against Payson's red cheeks.

"Then he clearly thinks less of me if he thinks I'd think less of him for losing his job," she says, forcefully. "If that makes any sense," she adds, after a moment.

Sasha's lips quirk. "Not really but I know what you're trying to say."

"If I'd have taken those deals MJ got for me before my back injury none of this would have happened." Payson stares beyond Sasha, lost in regret. "They nearly had to sell the house last year to pay for my surgery; why didn't I realise earning endorsement money was a priority when I came back?"

"Hey," Sasha sighs, rubbing Payson's hands. "This is not your fault."

Payson's attention snaps back to Sasha. "Of course this is my fault; I begged them to move here in the first place; I convinced them to let me have the surgery and never thought about how much it might cost; all my life I've pressured them about gymnastics."

"You weren't pressuring them, Payson. They wanted to help you achieve your dream. Do you have any idea how proud they are of you?"

"And look how I've repaid them," Payson whispers, tears returning. She angrily wipes them away; now is not the time for weakness. "Look, my parents have given me everything I've ever asked for, Sasha; now it's my turn to look after them."

"Are you sure?" Sasha asks carefully. "You must have kept your NCAA eligibility this long for a reason."

Payson looks at him, her green eyes rimmed red. "I kept it because mom and dad wanted to make sure I got a college education."

"And you're ok with giving that up?"

Payson glances to the ceiling and Sasha wishes Phoebe was here to crawl into Payson's arms, snuff her hand, and offer the unconditional comfort he can't. "I've put myself first all my life," Payson breathes fortitude back into her tired body. "This time I have to put my family first."

"They're going to take some convincing; you're still seventeen, Pay, if you want to get something signed before Worlds you need their consent," Sasha warns, trying not to wince when he mentions her age.

"And I'll get it," Payson says, determination flushing her skin.

A wave of proud affection washes over Sasha and he stands up before he makes the same mistake as last night.

"Ok, then," he says, tuning his brain into it professional frequency. "Do your parents know where you are?"

Payson shakes her head. Sasha tosses her his cell phone. "Text your mum, she'll be worried. Do you have spare clothes in your locker?"

Payson nods as she shoots off a text message.

"Then you go shower and change while I make a few calls." Sasha's mental rolodex of contacts spins as he grabs a cold bottle of water from the fridge. When he closes the fridge door, Payson is standing on the other side.

"Thank you," she tells him quietly. Her hair's slicked with sweat, her workout clothes are threadbare, her face is puffy and her eyes are bloodshot, but Sasha will never not find her beautiful.

"You don't have to thank me," he says. When he realises the backs of his fingers are brushing down her face, he pulls away and holds the trailer door open.

* * *

Payson lets the water run cold before she steps under the shower head, wincing as the ice drops hit her too-hot skin. She's grateful the shampoo burns her eyes, at least then she can blame her tears on chemicals rather than weakness. So much previously unsaid, so much previously glossed over, all now laid bare and raw in the open air. She almost yearns for the days when she was so focused on her gymnastics that she was blind to how much of her life she was ignoring.

The babble of thirty ten-year-olds wafts from the other side of the locker room and Payson waits for the noise to disappear before she exits the shower. She towels off and dresses in welcome solitude. She wishes she had bought Sasha's hoodie with her; she feels like hiding beneath oversized clothes. In sweatpants, t-shirt, and bare feet, she pads through reception and walks outside. The sidewalk is still covered by shade as she sits and crosses her legs fifteen feet from the door. The concrete is cool and she shivers as she starts to braid her wet hair.

"Hi Payson." Two young gymnasts pause at the door, greeting her shyly, almost reverentially.

"Hi," Payson tries to give them a kind smile. She must at least partially succeed because, as the girls disappear into the Rock, Payson hears an excited babble of conversation erupt.

Payson always finds it strange that little girls might look up to her as she looked up to Nastia Lukin. She certainly doesn't feel worthy of such regard right now. Her family might become homeless because when she was five years old she said she wanted to win an Olympic gold medal. How can someone who costs their family everything be a hero?


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

Sasha's sitting at his desk, phone trapped between cheek and shoulder. The hold music grinds into his ear and the handset makes a satisfying thwack as he smacks it against the desk. It's not quite as satisfying as throwing his stapler through the window but he suspects that would attract unwanted attention.

"Sasha?" A voice rumbles out of the mouthpiece. "Everything alright over there? I heard a bang."

"Sorry MJ, everything's fine," Sasha says, putting the phone back to his ear.

"Ok," she says, phone line doing little to conceal her disbelief. "Anyway, good news: I've definitely got some leads. With no national champ, there are a lot of endorsements up for grabs. Granted, Aundrea Conway has landed a fair number of those but I'll definitely have some options for Payson by the end of play today." It's been months since Sasha talked to the sports agent and her crisply English accent is strangely comforting this morning.

"How fast do you think we can get a deal done?"

"In a hurry, are we?"

Sasha stays quiet.

"Sasha?" MJ's voice becomes serious. "Off the record here: how much trouble is she in?"

Sasha looks to his office wall; it's already hidden behind sheets and sheets of tacked up World's prep. "MJ," he mutters, "if you screw her on these deals because you think you can take advantage, I swear you will never work with another gymnast again."

"Alright, Rebel, keep your hair on, I get the point. Nice to know you still hold me in such high esteem." MJ's sarcasm is still laced with concern.

"This isn't about us, MJ, look..." Sasha pauses, scrubs his jaw, and sighs. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...I just..."

"It's ok," MJ interrupts, cautiously. "Pressure's intense at the moment, I get that, and I know we didn't part on the best of terms, but I have a lot of respect for Payson Keeler and what she's been through. Sasha, you can trust me here."

Sasha closes his eyes. "Sure as hell need someone I can trust right now," he sighs.

Over fifteen years of friendship and fighting, MJ recognises the desperation in Sasha's voice.

"Right then," she says, coughing herself back into professional mode. "If time is of the essence then I better not waste anymore of it talking to you."

"Thanks for this."

"Get some sleep, Rebel, you sound like death warmed up."

* * *

"Do you want me to come in with you?"

Sasha pulls the truck up outside Payson's house. Payson looks out the passenger window at her front door; the last thing she wants to do is walk through it alone.

"No, that's ok; I should do this by myself." She unbuckles her seatbelt and pushes the door open. "You'll call me as soon as you hear anything from MJ?"

Sasha nods, hands gripping hard to the steering wheel.

"Ok," Payson nods. "Wish me luck," she sighs as she climbs from the cab, shooting a scared smile back at Sasha as she slams the door.

He watches until she's inside.

* * *

"No, absolutely not. I am not letting you throw away your education."

"I'm not throwing away my education, Dad," Payson says, trying to stay calm. She and her parents are sitting meeting style round the dining room table. "I can still go to college if I want; I'll just be paying for it with sponsorship money. MJ's certain she can make some deals."

"MJ," Mark scoffs, standing up and turning to the window. "Can't believe Sasha would put you in touch with her knowing how we feel about sports agents."

"I asked him to, Dad," Payson defends. "He's trying to help."

Mark, hands on hips, keeps his back to his daughter.

"It's not your job to support this family, Payson, it's ours. We don't want you worrying about any of this, which is why we didn't say anything to you or Becca," Kim says, glancing between her daughter and her husband. Her argument doesn't carry the vehemence Payson remembers from their similar conversation last year.

"I get it, Mom, you're trying to protect me," Payson looks at her mother. "But you have got to let me take some responsibility for the situation we're in."

"You're our child; we look after you, not the other way round," Mark says, struggling to hold his temper.

"I'm eighteen in two months," Payson snaps back, "and haven't you always taught me the importance of taking responsibility for my actions?"

Her parents exchange glances.

"Is this really about my education or is this about your ego not being able to accept money from me?" Payson attacks.

The room chills. Truth often has the company of silence.

"I'm sorry," Payson mumbles, pulling one leg up onto her chair and hugging her knee.

"I suppose we have to accept that the situation has changed," Kim says slowly, thinking as she speaks. "Yes, we always hoped we could do this without losing Payson's NCAA eligibility but," she sighs, "circumstances haven't exactly gone in our favour, have they?"

"Kim..." Mark says, turning from the window. There is more regret in his face than anger.

"I know, honey," she gives her husband a small smile, "but Payson getting a college scholarship was always a gamble in itself. Maybe we just have to accept we can't do this alone."

Payson, chin resting on her propped up knee, breathes deep. "The last thing I want to do is hurt you guys," she tips her eyes to her dad. "I just want to help."

A few moments pause and Mark steps toward Payson. His palm moulds round his daughter's head as he strokes her hair. "I know," he murmurs, "but I'm worried about you taking on even more pressure."

"I can handle it," Payson says quietly. She watches her mother and father swap glances, the silent language of a twenty year marriage.

"We'll hear MJ out," Mark says, sighing to the ceiling. "That's all I'm promising."

"Thank you," Payson offers up her arms and her dad pulls her into a tight hug.

* * *

"Let's get the niceties out the way up front, shall we? You think I'm a profit sucking vampire only interested in bleeding your daughter dry of as much money as possible, correct?"

"I was going to go with leech, but vampire works," Kim retorts.

It's just after seven pm and the Keelers are once again seated round their dining table, only this time they are joined by Becca, Sasha, and MJ. Rather than simply phoning in her proposal, MJ had made the drive over from Denver where she had weekend meetings; potentially landing a contract with Payson Keeler is certainly worth the gas money.

MJ, seated beside Kim, smiles at the older woman's barb. "Wish I could say your suspicions were entirely without merit but we all know I have a living to make. However," MJ sobers and glances at each of the Keelers, "Payson is a special case. I have the highest amount of respect, not only for her tenacity in the face of horrendous injury, but her loyalty to Sasha during a time when it would have been much more sensible to side with the NGO. Fidelity to friends is not something I see very often in this business, believe you me."

Payson shuffles in her seat, a little uncomfortable at all this praise. Becca, standing behind Payson's chair, gives a sister a quick hug.

MJ doesn't miss the gesture. "You know how much I wish I had the opportunity to deal with families with integrity like yours instead of the money hungry lot I usually have traipsing through my office?"

"Wouldn't be driving as nice a car though, I'm sure," Mark observes dryly.

"Fair point," MJ concedes with a smile.

Sasha, leaning against the doorframe, coughs pointedly and MJ takes the hint to get on with it.

"Look, cards on the table, your financial concerns are absolutely none of my business but we all know if you had any other choice you'd have slammed the door in my face, so I won't waste your time." She opens her leather holdall and pulls out five plastic folders, keeps a copy herself, hands one to Kim, one to Mark, slides one across the table to Payson who's sitting opposite, and passes the last to Sasha. "Here's my proposal. Before Nationals, Payson was considered the premier gymnast in the United States; the natural successor to Kelly Parker. Now, I haven't had time to make this plan comprehensive but, the basic intent is to resurrect that image."

Payson frowns as she flicks through the pages. "But Drea and Beth are the rising stars." She tries to sound professional, tries not to let bitterness or fear creep into her tone.

"Maybe, but we're not going to be painting you as the latest ingénue who may or may not stay the course. You are the phoenix who rose from the ashes, Payson. Do you have any idea how many people thought you were done after Nationals?"

Mark automatically takes his wife's hand; any reference to that terrible day will always send a shudder through this family.

"You have proven wrong every so called 'expert' in the sport and done it in spectacular fashion." Usually, MJ has to fake her enthusiasm during the first meeting with a potential client in order to hook them; she has no need to pretend anything with this girl. "You gatecrashed World trials." MJ, incredulous, glances round the table, doubting anyone but Sasha realises what an unbelievable risk that was. "You completely changed your style of gymnastics with only your family and coach's help; no NGO backing; no sponsors; no five person med team following your every move. Payson you are an athlete who is proving that tenacity and integrity can still succeed in a multi-million dollar industry. That's what I want to show the public." MJ sits back in her chair and lets her impromptu presentation sink in.

Mark and Kim are somewhat taken aback by the veracity of MJ's plan; they thought she would merely be offering one sponsorship contract.

"Payson, how do you feel about all of that?" Kim looks at her daughter.

Payson bites her lip, trying to read the words MJ's typed but so tired she can barely make them out. "I'm a gymnast, MJ, I've always been a gymnast, I don't want to be a celebrity," she says, a little scared.

"And I promise that is not my intention. I can get you a more detailed plan by Monday and you'll see then that it is a stripped back version of what I usually recommend for my clients. Payson, you already have the track record, a position on the national team, you won't have to beg for attention. They'll be no segments on Good Morning, Boulder, ending with you having to say 'and now over to Tiffani with the weather'. We will do only the best: Sports Illustrated, ESPN, maybe a documentary on HBO. Trust me: I will not interfere with your Olympic training more than is absolutely essential." She glances up at Sasha. They'd had a rather animated conversation at the Rock before Sasha bought her to see Payson concerning how much exactly MJ would be permitted to impact on Payson's life.

"I know this is totally nothing compared to what you can do," Becca interjects, uncharacteristically shy, "but I've been doing some Instagram posts for Payson?" She grips hard to the back of her big sister's chair.

MJ nods. "I saw and I was impressed with how you dealt with Kaylie and Emily leaving the team."

Pride skips across Becca's face.

"And," MJ pauses to flick through her copy of the proposal, fold it open on a specific page, and push it across the table for Becca to read, "you could be a big help if Payson accepts this endorsement."

Payson cranes her neck to glimpse what page Becca is looking at.

"Grrrl Bars? I love them!" Becca exclaims, reaching the paragraph MJ indicated.

MJ chuckles, then turns to Payson. "They love your healthy body image and want to do an entire campaign based around you. They're offering twenty-five thousand now and two hundred and fifty thousand if you medal at worlds." She lists the numbers as if they are chump change. Payson's mouth drops open.

"Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars? Are you serious? Dad," Payson spins in her chair, "you know what that means? We can pay off the debt on the house _and_ you can take time finding a job you really like here in Boulder."

"You could come home full time?" Becca squeals, all thoughts of Instagram forgotten. "Oh my god!" She throws herself at her father.

"Wait a second," Kim offers the voice of reason, "that sounds great and all, but what if Payson doesn't medal?"

MJ frowns; this is always the bit she hates. "My proposal is built round Payson getting an individual medal in Rio. Without that, and the guarantee it gives her of a spot at the Olympics, it will be a lot harder to ensure endorsements."

The reality of Payson's limited shelf life as a gymnast sucks the previous excitement from the room

"MJ's going to be in town for a few days," Sasha speaks for the first time, interrupting the awkward quiet. "Why don't you guys talk and we can meet again tomorrow or Monday to discuss what you've decided."

"Yeah," Kim, staring at the table, murmurs automatically, then shakes herself back into life. "Yes," she repeats, strongly. "MJ we appreciate you coming here on such short notice." She stands and extends a hand toward the sports agent which MJ accepts.

"Well, I just got an upgrade on my broom so it was no trouble," she punctuates the joke with a witch's cackle and Becca giggles. "I can see myself out." She shakes Mark and Payson's hands, giving the latter an encouraging smile, then picks up her holdall. No one talks until they hear the front door shut and, even then, no one knows what to say.

* * *

"Sasha," Payson calls as she jogs out the front door.

Sasha stops beside his bike and steels himself before he looks up. "You ok?" He's trying to forget her arms around him as they drove through the dark last night.

"No," Payson smiles, still stunned at the events of the day. "It's all a bit crazy."

"I know," Sasha says, gently. "But discuss it with your parents and we'll talk tomorrow; we'll figure it out." He lifts a leg over the bike before he makes the mistake of pulling Payson against him and holding her tight.

Payson nods, arms folded round her body. She shifts her weight between her feet. Sasha waits.

"Are we ok?" she murmurs, eyebrows drawn together as she looks at him.

Sasha pushes every ounce of reassurance he can into his smile. The last thing Payson needs is to be worried about him. "We're fine, Payson. You have my word."

She nods again, turning away from the bike.

He rides away with her still standing in the driveway, wishing she was sitting behind him and resting her cheek on his shoulder.

* * *

"This is so exciting!" Becca sing-songs as she taps away at her laptop. She's sitting crossed legged on Payson's bed while Payson lies on the floor doing spine curls. Phoebe is curled up asleep beside her. "We can post photos of you and Grrrl bars everywhere! I mean, we'll have to co-ordinate with Grrrl bar obviously, but I have a ton of ideas already."

Payson tunes in and out of Becca's contented chattering. Eyes closed, she's trying to focus on stretching through each vertebrae, but memories from last night keep flashing through her mind. The feel of Sasha's fingertips pressing against her stomach when protectively he pulled her tight against him; the rumble of his heartbeat as he shielded her from sight; the taste of his skin as she ran her tongue along his lower lip.

"Oh, they are so cute together! Payson, look at this!"

Payson's eyes fly open and it takes a few breaths before she trusts that the blush has drained enough from her cheeks that Becca won't ask why she looks so hot.

"Look at what?" Rising to her knees, she shuffles over to the bed, subtly wiping her sweaty palms on her pants.

"Kaylie and Austin," Becca coos, swivelling the laptop screen so Payson can see. It's a Facebook page displaying a photo of Kaylie and Austin posing on stage at Brightside. The photo is stamped at the bottom corner with © _Max Spencer_.

Payson goes cold. She snatches the laptop and yanks it toward her, the power cable catching against Phoebe and waking her up.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck" she murmurs under her breath, frantically clicking through Max's photos, searching for any glimpse of her own face in each frame.

"What's wrong?" Becca exclaims, face furrowed with worry. She tips off the bed and joins her sister on the floor. "What are you doing?"

"Becca," Payson says, quietly, tamping down as hard as she can on the panic running havoc through her bloodstream, "I need you to do something for me and not ask any questions, can you do that?"

Becca frowns harder, glancing between Payson and the laptop screen. "O-kay," she says slowly.

Payson shoves the computer back into Becca's hands, nudging Phoebe out the way. "I need you to check Twitter, Instagram, _everything,_ and see if there is any mention of me, Lauren, Kelly, or Sasha being at Brightside last night"

"Why would there...right, no questions." Becca flinches away from the intensity of Payson's eyes. "I'm on it." With dexterous speed, she clicks open a half dozen windows and calls up the necessary pages.

After an hour of searching, in which Payson alternates furious pacing of her room and absentminded petting of a slightly confused Phoebe, Becca stretches her arms over her head and clicks her knuckles. "Nothing," she announces around a large yawn. "There's stuff about the concert and Austin being there, some photos of him and Kaylie, but nothing about any of you guys."

Payson, pacing in front of the window, stills at her sister's words. As their meaning registers, she leans her forehead against the cool pane, and looks out into the darkened street. She's still shivering with adrenaline.

"Were you there?" Becca asks quietly, crawling across the bed and coming to stand beside Payson. "Did you think someone might have seen you?"

Night had come while Becca was searching, and neither sister has thought to turn on a light; the stark white of the laptop screen is the only illumination in a room filled with shadows.

When Payson doesn't answer, Becca slips a hand into hers and squeezes. "That honor code thing is dumb, anyway."

Payson exhales with a touch of hysteria, "it is dumb." _And so am I_ , she thinks, still leaning on the window. If Max hadn't been such an ass and got himself dragged away by Austin, herself or one of the others would surely have ended up in at least the periphery of one of his photos.

The pane is misting under her hot skin. Fatigue is suddenly overwhelming.

"Pay?" Becca half-whispers, tipping her head on to Payson's shoulder. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right? No matter what it is."

With a deep breath, Payson pushes away from the glass and slips an arm around her baby sister, pulling her close and dropping a kiss on her head. "I know, Becca."

 _But I won't give you this burden to carry,_ Payson wordlessly vows, as she and Becca breath slow and watch the peaceful dark.


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

"I'm a gymnast, not an algebra genius; why'd they have to make it so complicated?" Hayley beseeches as she stares at the chalk bin and etches more numbers into the dust with one finger.

"Problem?" Sasha looks up from his clipboard.

"Uh, duh?" Hayley pouts at him, running her hand over her tightly cropped afro, putting white streaks through her black hair. "I got 2 D level moves with a point whatever connection value, then the arabian piked which is an acrobatic F – and, ok, that one I understand – but then I do the switch leap back tuck which are both Cs but have different scores attached? Coach!" she flaps, "how am I supposed to know what my d-score is? Do you know how many times I've failed math?"

Fighting away a smile, Sasha puts his hand in the chalk bin and brushes away all of Hayley's equations. "Hayley," he says calmly, bending down to look at her. "This is why you let me worry about your degree of difficulty for you."

Hayley sighs and slaps her palms on her hips, sending a mist of chalk dust into Sasha's face. "I hate math."

"So I gathered," Sasha coughs, fanning away the chalk cloud. "Look," he tries again, "the other coaches and I have spent a long time learning this scoring system inside out, ok? So you have nothing to worry about. You just concentrate on the routine and let us deal with the numbers."

Hayley's face lights up. "Really?"

Sasha smiles. "Really. Now shoo, and please tell Beth not to close her eyes just before she hits the springboard; it's scaring the hell out of everyone."

With a jaunty nod, Hayley jogs away. "Still think they should bring back the 'marks out of ten' scoring system," she chucks back over her shoulder.

Sighing, Sasha checks his clipboard; the top sheet is covered in numeric calculations. "You and me both, kid," he mutters, "you and me both."

Two weeks out from Worlds and the Rock has fully turned into the hub of the American women's national team. Normal classes have either been rescheduled or relocated to the arctic annex in order to allow the six members of the Worlds squad full access to the facilities. Additional staff have also descended: administrators and media operatives from the NGO; club coaches with their gymnasts. The latter are numbered less than usual though, since Beth's coach from her home club - Pinnacle Gymnastics in Kansas - is out on maternity leave and, as Hayley isn't expected to reach any individual finals, her coach at MG Elite has stayed in New Jersey.

There was never any doubt, however, whether Kelly's club coach would be making the trip to Rio with her.

"You bought me coffee!" Kelly halloos as she skips over to greet Marty at the main doors, making a grab for the carry tray her coach has balanced in his free hand.

"And a good morning to you too," Marty says, as Kelly ignores him in favour of reading the marker scrawl on the sides of the disposable cups.

"One of those for me?" Sasha asks, sliding his clipboard under an arm and reaching out to shake Marty's hand.

"Depends," Marty pretends to wince at Sasha's grip. "Are you planning to punch me again?"

"My to-do list is already long enough today."

"Then yes, there's one for you." Marty smiles as he hands Sasha a cup. "No sugar, no milk, strong as tar."

Sasha takes a gulp even though it's still scalding. "You can stay," he announces, caffeine striking mercifully fast into his bloodstream.

"Elixir of life," Kelly rapsodises, after a long gulp of her latte, "and just when I was at death's door."

Rolling his eyes at her theatrics, Sasha taps Kelly on the shoulder. "Do you see that empty beam?" he asks, sweetly innocent.

"Yes."

"Then you'll be able to tell me what's wrong with it."

Kelly frowns at him with the level of disdain she usually reserves for Phoebe.

"You're supposed to be on it!"

"Are you sure more caffeine's the way to go, Coach?" Kelly feigns concern for his welfare.

"Beam! Now!"

"So things are going well then," Marty comments around a smirk as Kelly primly jogs over to the beam and Sasha inhales half his cup of coffee.

"Peachy," Sasha frowns. "What are you doing here anyway? Thought you weren't coming by 'til tomorrow."

"I was in the neighbourhood," Marty shrugs. "Thought I'd visit."

The two coaches stand side by side looking out at the floor.

Marty eyes the stairs warily. "Is Kim in?"

"Yup." It's Sasha's turn to smirk. "Not scared are you?"

"The woman is still mad at me," Marty hisses.

"I'd have thought that was the current state of your relationship with most women," Sasha remarks.

"Ha ha," Marty snaps.

Sasha lets Marty sulk for a moment as he watches Drea stumble on her double twisting double front landing. "It's okay, Drea, you'll get it," he calls out.

"Bloody hard tumble you got her doing, mate," Marty comments.

Sasha ignores the dig at his accent. "Her coach put it in," he mutters. "It'll be great if the damn thing doesn't kill her."

"And here I was thinking you enjoyed working with other coaches. By the way, did I mention my jaw still hurts on damp days thanks to your fist?" Marty smirks.

"By the way, did I mention MJ's in the office too?"

The information has the desired effect and Marty groans. "Oh God, why?"

"Because the world obviously hates you?"

"You know, I'm really starting to think it does. No, seriously, why is she here?"

"She's managing Payson, needs Kim to sign some paperwork. What?"

"Payson got an agent?" Marty looks at his former competitor with such surprise that Sasha is reminded he was Payson's coach for two years. The accompanying stab of territorial jealousy Sasha firmly pushes away.

"Still in the doghouse with MJ I take it?"

"I still maintain none of what happened was my fault," Marty argues, taking Sasha's hint to change the subject.

"Why does that not surprise me," Sasha jokes and then raises his voice. "Hayley, watch your grip: you're over rotating your wrists."

"I should let you get back to it," Marty says, without showing any sign of moving.

Deciding it's worth a shot, Sasha glances at his colleague to watch the reaction to a seemingly bland statement. "Kelly's ankle seems stable."

"No reason it shouldn't do," Marty remarks, quickly but calmly, eyes watching Kelly's flic-flac to cross straddle sit.

Sasha sighs. If Marty and Kelly want to keep him in the dark, there's not much he can do about it, except hope he's being paranoid and the ankle really is fine.

"While you're here and so eager to see her, Kim's got all the schedule information for flights," Sasha says, adding, by way of dismissal, "and thanks for the coffee."

"Do not call that coffee." Marty pauses, watching the gymnasts fly and sprint and power through the air and across the floor. "Doesn't seem five minutes since it was us, does it?"

Nostalgia can eat away decades in seconds. "It really doesn't," Sasha murmurs.

* * *

"Sasha."

"Here we go."

"What?" Lauren questions as she comes to a halt beside her coach.

"Nothing," Sasha sighs. "What can I do for you, Lauren?"

"What exactly is wrong with my sizzle?"

Sasha really hopes the NGO haven't taken to bugging the gym because God knows they'd have a field day with this kind of material.

"Lauren, we've been through this."

"So not the point," Lauren argues. Hands on hips, eyebrows drawn together in defiant opposition to all things logical, she looks just like her father. "It's my style; it's what I've always done."

"And," Sasha says patiently, "as I've explained, it scores no points. Major championships - as you will soon find out - are exhausting, and I don't want you wasting any energy on moves that do not count toward your final mark."

"The judges _like_ my sizzle," Lauren says, and at least Sasha will never have to worry about this one's self confidence.

"As far as I'm aware, 'sizzle' is _not_ a requirement for a flic-flac 3/4 to a handstand, whereas holding the handstand for two seconds without the inclusion of 'sizzle' _is_." Sasha hopes he'll never have to use that sentence again in his life.

Lauren pouts and folds her arms.

"Now, bars," Sasha redirects her attention. "I want us to go over your jaeger."

"I can do it in my sleep, Sasha," Lauren complains. "Why have you dropped my d-score so low?"

A thud slams through the gym. "Dammit!"

Sasha and Lauren immediately look to the main mat. Payson just landed her triple twist outside the regulation area and on her butt.

"She has not stuck anything today," Lauren observes with pity.

Sasha watches Payson jump back up, slap a fist into her palm and storm off to the chalk bin. "What were we talking about?" he mutters.

"Why you've massacred my d-score."

"It's not massacred," Sasha tells her as they walk over to an uneven bar set. "I simplified your jaeger sequence so you _can_ do it in your sleep. I'm counting on your consistency, Lauren. Payson and Kelly have risky routines. I need you solid."

"Like a donkey," Kelly puts in, falling into pace with her coach and teammate.

"Kelly," Sasha warns.

"What? Donkeys are useful. Sure they're not as popular as a thoroughbred," Kelly preens, "but every team has to have an ass."

Lauren glowers at Kelly. "Tell me, what's the temperature like on Planet Parker?"

"Probably a lot warmer than on Planet Bitter."

"Alright, that's enough," Sasha snaps at them both. "I know you two have some bizarre love hate relationship going, which, fine, whatever works, but I will not have you bitching at one another all the live long day, do you understand?"

"Yes, Coach," Lauren and Kelly mumble in unison.

"What was that?"

"Yes, Coach!"

"Excellent. Kelly, spot Lauren, and if you kill each other, I will kill both of you."

As he stalks away he hears Lauren mutter, "that doesn't even make sense," and Kelly answer, "caffeine overdose, I did warn him." Sasha smiles: nothing like a common enemy to unite rivals.

"Hey, Drea," Sasha softens his demeanour and his stance as he approaches the mat. Aundrea Conway is a five foot one greyhound of a girl with long curly blonde hair and sky blue eyes. "How you doing today?"

"Good." Jules, the assistant coach who's been working with her all morning, answers when Drea just gives a nervous shrug. "Why don't you show Coach Belov the double twist, flic-flac, full twisting double back we've been working on."

"Ok," Drea says, her Californian accent soft. Her hair is pulled up in a high ponytail which accentuates her cheekbones.

"Truth?" Sasha murmurs to Jules as they step off the mat.

Jules tips one hand from side to side. "Capable but terrified. Mommy dearest isn't exactly helping either." Jules, mouth wrinkling in disgust, nods over to the parents' area. Louise Conway is Drea's coach as well as her mother. "A double twisting double front and a double twist double back in the same routine? I'm mean, seriously?"

Sasha scrubs at his hair. It's a ridiculously hard routine, spectacular if done right, a one way trip to the ER if it's not.

"Ok, Drea, let's show the man what we've got." Jules enthuses her voice with verve and gives the fifteen-year-old a clap of encouragement, though her eyes give away her concern.

"Come on Aundrea, no more mistakes." Louise Conway, spotting that her daughter is about to perform, walks over, eyes sharp as flint.

A breath to focus, a blink to steady, and two quick strides carry Drea into the double twist. She lands lightly before ricocheting immediately into a powerful flic-flac, building momentum then launching into a back salto, twisting, tumbling once, twice, her body untucking perfectly as she lands. She sticks it but one foot is out of bounds, resting just beyond the white line that rims that mat.

"How many times, Aundrea," Coach Conway snaps, marching over to her daughter. "You're putting too much power into the double back. You need to control the move not let it control you. Do you not realise we are only ten days away from the biggest competition of your life?" At five foot six, Louise Conway may not be a tall woman but she still seems to tower over her daughter, especially when Drea has her head bowed to the floor.

"If I may," Sasha steps between the mother and daughter, aiming at glare at Coach Conway. "Drea," Sasha puts a hand on Drea's shoulder and says her name again so she'll look at him. "That's a real improvement," he smiles and ducks his shoulders, trying to be as unimposing as possible. "I've had a chat with Jules and she's going to work on a few things with you and I'll be back in ten minutes, ok?"

With a small smile, Drea nods, and Jules slips an arm around her shoulder to lead her away.

"Coach Conway, a word," Sasha snaps, all friendliness gone. How exactly do you think scaring the poor girl half to death is going to help her performance?" he demands without preamble when they reach the relative privacy of the water cooler.

"I think I know my own daughter a little better than a man who has only met her a handful of times," Louise replies, with a thin smile that holds no small measure of contempt. "That is not Aundrea 'half scared to death' as you so charmingly put it. That is how Aundrea always looks. She's a nervous girl who needs to be coached rather than coddled."

Not quite believing the unfeeling nature of this woman's words, Sasha struggles to keep his temper under control. "Your _daughter_ ," he emphasises the title though he doubts it means much to Coach Conway, "needs to be supported. Her ability is unquestionable but her confidence is through the floor at the moment. If she goes into Worlds like this, she will break on the first event."

Thin smile hardening, Coach Conway folds her arms. "I would have to politely disagree, Coach Belov. I have raised her, I have trained her, and I think I know better than you if she is ready for this. You can forget Kelly Parker and Payson Keeler and Beth Dean, _my_ daughter is the next star of USA gymnastics, and I would appreciate you not interfering in my coaching techniques and confusing Aundrea."

Coach Conway turns to leave. "Oh, and one more thing. Don't get any ideas about extra training sessions when I'm not around. Kim Keeler may be willing to let you fool around with her daughter, but don't think you'll be getting your hands on mine." With that, she stalks away, pulling her cell phone out of her belt holster.

Sasha doesn't breath for ten seconds; he doesn't trust himself not to swear very loudly.

"Coach?"

"What?!" he bellows, spinning round.

Beth's large hazel eyes blink up at him.

"I'm sorry," Sasha says immediately, wiping his forehead and sighing. "How can I help you, Beth?"

Thin brown hair falling to her shoulders, Beth is four foot six, ninety pounds of pure muscle. She's a mini rocket that Sasha would put money on being all around champion at the 2016 Olympics.

"Hayley said that you said that I'm closing my eyes when I vault?"

"Did you not realise?"

Beth thinks for a moment, mentally running the Amanar. "Huh," she comments. "But I land with them open, don't I?"

A total daydreamer; Sasha can understand why MJ describes her as a nightmare to interview.

"If you're not finding it a problem, then I can learn to live with it," Sasha concedes, calmed by Beth's placid demeanour. "And since you're here, I've got something for you." He fishes around in the pocket on the back of his clipboard and pulls out a thin wad of index cards looped on a metal carabiner. "I noticed you make a lot of notes for your routines, and Coach Herd told me you like to know in advance the timetable details of your events for competitions?"

Beth nods vigorously, eyes growing - if possible - even wider as she blinks up at him.

"So I figured this would be a good way of keeping it all together for you. There are separate ones for each discipline," Sasha flicks through the cards, "and I thought we could spend a little time after practice today filling in dates and times and all the nitty gritty?"

He waits for Beth to comment but she's looking at the cards he's handed her like they're a wad of cash.

"So is that a yes?" Sasha smiles.

More vigorous nodding and wide eyed blinking.

"Ok, off you go. I'll be over in a bit."

Beth hesitates, shuffling weight between her feet, then, without warning, throws her arms round Sasha's waist, squeezes tight, releases just as quickly and runs off, not looking back. Sasha watches her go in bemusement before turning his attention to bars.

"Kelly," Sasha shouts, as his bobble-haired world champ sticks her double layout dismount. "You're not completing the handstand before you release. Do it again."

"You weren't even watching," Kelly protests, hands on hips.

"That's how good a coach I am," Sasha gives her a smug smile. "Do it again."

"Fine," Kelly storms off to the chalk bin where Lauren is giggling. "Shut up, Tanner."

Kelly's always been good at taking direction if she actually listens to what she's being told and, this time, she hits every handstand.

"Good, Kelly," Sasha shouts over. "And, Lauren? I wouldn't laugh so hard. You're up next." He then turns his attention back to vault. If he were a superstitious man, he'd be crossing his fingers.

Feet thunder down the runway at startling speed, a whip crack of blonde and red slams off the springboard, powers into the podium and spins through the sky. A perfect roundoff-half on, one and a half, right up until Payson lands on her face rather than her feet.

"Oh, for fuck's SAKE!" she screams, fist pounding into the mat twice before she sits back on her heels, panting with rage.

That's it. Sasha dumps his clipboard on the floor and stalks over to her. "You? Out!" he snaps.

Payson glares at him, green eyes firing as she shakes away his attempt to help her up. She marches from the gym, ignoring the looks from her teammates, the other coaches, the NGO staff, Sasha at her back. The reception area is empty. Payson stands while Sasha paces.

"I get that you are frustrated right now," he says, trying to tamp down on his own frustration, "but I cannot have you using language like that in there, do you understand me?" His eyes are as wild as Payson's.

Fury is radiating from her but she manages a curt nod. "I'll apologise to the others."

"Damn right you will," Sasha fires back. "And why are you standing there?"

"What?"

"I said outside," he gestures at the reception area and stairwell. "This is not outside."

Payson scowls up at him. "It's outside enough."

Sasha, not even flinching, stares back. "Payson, you've barely seen the sky or the sun in days. Out." He's going to give her shoulders a little nudge but predicts that physical contact might lead to his jaw getting punched, so he merely holds the door open and waits for her to move.

Rolling her eyes and slamming her feet against the floor as she walks, Payson exits the building, stopping one foot onto the sidewalk. "Sun's still yellow, sky's still blue," she gives a violent huff, "can I go back to work now?"

If this were any other gymnast, Sasha would be having a very loud conversation with her about how he'll have her respect, thank you, and that she's got five rope climbs in her future.

"Aren't you going to say hi to someone?" he says instead, folding his arms and blocking the doorway.

"I said hi to you this morning," Payson snaps. She's right in front of him, ready to shove him out the way.

"More accurately you grunted a 'sup' at me this morning and even then I'm pretty sure you thought I was Beth," Sasha corrects, raising his eyebrows at her. "Which is beside the point because I'm not talking about me." He nods over Payson's shoulder and, curiosity momentarily overriding her annoyance, she turns round to look where he's gesturing.

"That's emotional blackmail," she tells him, fiercely. Her cheeks are flushed red, her legs are covered with bruises from all the falls she's taken in the past few days, and her feet are bleeding again.

"Your point being?" Sasha shrugs, so infuriatingly nonchalant he expects Payson to kick him in the shins.

A finger gets pointed up at him. "Five minutes."

Since Payson is apparently numb below the ankle, Sasha winces on her behalf as she storms across the parking lot, bare feet cutting into the stones. She's already crouching by the Airstream and petting Phoebe by the time he gets over there. Since it's an unseasonably warm day, Sasha has tied Phoebe to a long rope and let her have the run of the fake lawn. The awning Steve Tanner - still terrified Sasha's going to leave and take the NGO publicity train with him - has erected over the trailer, casts the pseudo grass in a cool shade. "Can you tell me where I'm going wrong, huh?" she's murmuring as Phoebe licks her sweaty cheeks.

"I can tell you where you're going wrong," Sasha offers. As Payson has increasingly faltered over the past few days, she's refused to allow Sasha to coach her.

"I know where I'm going wrong, thank you," Payson says, tone completely changing as Sasha's shadow falls over her. "I'm under-rotating my half twisting double front; I'm punching too hard off the board into the half twist; and my damn back has decided now would be a great time to start cramping every time I do a Tkatchev."

Sasha stands over her, saying nothing.

"Ok, great pep talk, Coach," she says, standing up. " _Now_ can I go back to work?"

Sasha points to the Airstream steps. "Sit."

"Why? So you can explain to me in great detail how ten days before Worlds my body's forgotten how to do gymnastics?" Payson's words carry across the lot.

"No," he says face clean of expression, "because you're bleeding all over my lawn."

Satisfied that surprise will keep her still for the few seconds it will take him to retrieve his medical kit from the trailer, Sasha leaves Payson staring at her feet and, sure enough, finds her there when he jumps down the steps, supplies in hand.

"Sit," he orders again, surprised when Payson actually perches on the middle step. He kneels down in front of her, opens the green box, and props her right foot on his knee. She's bleeding from four of her nails and has taken the skin off the outside of her arch.

"This might sting," he warns, ripping open an antiseptic wipe and cleaning the wound gently. Payson doesn't even wince.

"I'm fucked, Sasha. I'm just totally fucked."

Sasha hates to hear her talking like that; Payson only swears when she's too exhausted or too upset to come up with another expression. Today, she's both.

"You are not fucked," he tells her, rubbing away pieces of chalk that have stuck to the blood. "You're just so desperate to land everything that you're too tense to land anything."

Payson's silence confirms his guess.

A light breeze moves around them, tree shadows dancing on the asphalt. The air smells of fall and blood.

"I have to medal, Sasha," Payson says, so quietly Sasha has to look at her. Sure enough, she has tears in her eyes that are nothing to do with physical pain. "MJ was with Mom earlier getting all the contracts signed but, you know what she said, none of it is going to matter if I screw up in Rio, is it?"

Sasha sighs. He's seen this so many times; financial pressure messing with a gymnast's head.

"You can't think about it like that, Pay," he tells her, moving on to cleaning up her toes. She's almost ripped off one toenail. Sasha remembers a particularly nasty fall from beam yesterday.

"How can I not?" Payson whispers, all the fight gone out of her. "The twenty-five grand down payment has got the bank off our backs for now but...my dad hasn't found a job yet and I've told them not to come to Worlds, to save the money, but still... God, Sasha, if I don't medal and get that extra money..."

"Sssh," Sasha soothes, starting to bandage Payson's disinfected foot. "I know it's easier said than done but you need to stop putting so much pressure on yourself."

"How?" The question is small and her green eyes shine so wide. Sasha wants to scoop her up, carry her into the trailer, put her on his bed, wrap her up in a blanket, and let her sleep her worries away. He glances round, then puts a palm to her cheek. She leans into him.

"Trust yourself and trust your family. You are an extraordinary gymnast, Payson Keeler, and an extraordinary person, and you come from a family who love you unconditionally. You do not have to take the weight of their futures on your shoulders; that is not your responsibility."

"My dad's so mad at everything," Payson says, picking at the new bandage on her right foot.

Sasha clasps her fingers so she can't undo his nursing and a smile briefly touches her mouth before dying away.

"He wants to look after his family and he can't right now. Have you talked to him?"

Payson sighs. "No."

"I know it's cliché but talking usually helps."

Payson strokes her thumb along the inside of his palm. "Thanks, Doctor Phil."

"Who?"

That has Payson giggling, or at least has the beginnings of a giggle tickling her throat. She sighs a smile then looks at Sasha. He sees too much experience, too much responsibility, for seventeen-year-old eyes.

"We'll get through this, Payson." He wants to add 'I promise' but he remembers too many gymnasts - even the strongest of gymnasts - who broke under the pressure. He remembers the kink of Payson's neck as she hit that mat at Nationals. He doesn't have the power to promise her anything apart from, "no matter what, I'll be with you, ok?"

She brings his hand up to her lips and kisses his fingers lightly. Sasha knows he should stop this burgeoning public tactility between them; it's a dangerous line they're walking. Still, he doesn't pull his hand back. He lies to himself that it's for her sake.

"You can go back in now," he smiles at her. "I promise I won't tackle you at the door."

Payson's tired face loses a little of its tension. She glances at Phoebe laying beside the steps, glances up at the white plane tracks criss-crossing the blue sky, glances back at Sasha. She quirks one side of her mouth and closes her eyes. She still has Sasha's hand in hers. "I've got a few minutes."

* * *

 _A/N: Because of how the story unfolds, there's just the one chapter today - but I'll make up for it by posting three on Tuesday! Trust me, you won't want to miss them ;)_


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

"Do we really have to go to this thing?" Whining might be too strong an accusation but Mark's voice definitely warbles with the beginnings of a pout.

"Yes, we really have to go to this thing," Kim says, frowning, as she knots her husband's tie. "It's a party for the national team and your daughter is a member of the national team."

"Mom," Payson whines as she stomps into the living room, adjusting her silver drop earrings, "do we really have to go to this thing?"

"Well, we're never gonna need a DNA test to check she's yours," Kim jokes, giving the tie a final tug then smoothing Mark's lapels. "And, yes Pay, we really have to go."

"But it's such a waste of time," Payson complains, dropping onto the sofa. "We leave for Worlds in six days. Six days! How can they think that spending an evening making small talk with NGO idiots is going to help us win anything?"

"I probably wouldn't call them NGO idiots to their faces," Mark says, sitting down beside his daughter. "Though it certainly is tempting."

Payson joins in his private smile. On Sasha's urging, she had managed a talk with her father last night. While certainly not resolving Mark's issues about relying in part on the financial support of his daughter, it has at least lessened the tension between them.

"You will both be on your best behaviour," Kim warns, checking her hair in the mirror.

"Tanner is putting on a free bar, right?" Mark asks.

"Damn well better be," Kim mutters, sitting down beside her husband, patient demeanour slipping. The three Keelers sigh in unison.

"God, are you guys going to a party or a funeral?" Becca, Grrl bar in hand, wanders into the living room, flanked by Phoebe, and her fellow Kennedy High cheerleader, Rachel.

"Phoebe, no!" Becca makes a grab for the dog as Phoebe darts toward Payson. "You'll get hair all over her dress," she explains to Phoebe as she picks her up.

"Like it matters." Payson slumps into the sofa. First denied a restful evening, now denied her own dog.

"It does matter," Becca persists, handing Phoebe to Rachel and picking her snack off the floor where she'd dropped it. "Me and Rach spent ages making you look this cute."

"Ew, Becca! At least wipe the dog hair off that before you eat it," Payson warns, but it's too late; Becca's already taken a bite. As a perk of signing with Grrrl bar, the company had delivered ten free boxes of the product.

"You do like your makeup, right, Payson?" Rachel ventures, since Becca's mouth is too full to make a comment back to her sister.

"It's great, thanks Rachel," Payson assures, a little guilty. Concerned her competition trained makeup skills - inch deep foundation, five layers of eyeshadow - would make her look like a drag queen in any photos taken at the party, Payson had enlisted her sister's help, although it had ended up with Rachel doing most of the application while Becca documented the whole thing for Instagram.

Payson has to admit, the cheerleaders have done a good job. Her hair is pulled back in a perfectly sleek high ponytail. Her face is subtly contoured and her eyes are delicately smokey. The simple yet elegant style matches the dress MJ had couriered yesterday: a sleeveless evergreen lace fit and flare that falls mid-thigh. She's paired it with silver ballet pumps so she doesn't have to worry about turning an ankle as she would in heels.

"Are you going to stay long at the party?" Becca asks, once she's swallowed her Grrl bar.

The veracity of Payson and Mark's joint "No!" makes them all laugh.

* * *

The Tanner mansion is sparkling, Steve and his Amex card having gone all out to impress. The event is being held poolside, the party planners taking advantage of the beautiful run of weather Boulder has been experiencing. White lights drip through the trees, illuminated globes sit at the centre of high tables, and the patio is littered with fire lanterns that reflect off the rippling surface of the water. A full bar has been set up near the house, along with a buffet table decorated with...

"Can someone please explain to me the point of ice sculptures?" Payson asks, gesturing with a grimace at the oversized bird sitting in the middle of the buffet. "I mean, they're only useful if you run out of bags of ice and have to chip off the duck's beak to put in your soda, otherwise they just sit there and melt all over the food."

"I think it's a swan," Kelly drawls, champagne flute of soda water dangling lazily between her fingers.

Hayley narrows her eyes, studying the bird. "I'm going with goose."

"I thought it was a flamingo," Beth offers.

Payson, Kelly, and Hayley stare at their young teammate.

"It's got two legs," Kelly says, sardonically.

Beth isn't fazed, just tilts her head to the right. "I just thought it was a boy flamingo."

It's rare to see Kelly Parker truly laugh and the usually stoic world champion dissolving into giggles draws the attention of others.

"What's so funny?" Kim asks, excusing herself from a group of sponsors and approaching the girls.

"Nothing!" They all say in unison.

"Uh huh," Kim smirks.

Tonight is more press event than private party, flashbulbs and microphones being as ubiquitous as champagne and canapés. Payson resents it on principle, but accepting you have to pander to the media becomes easier when your house is on the line so she smiles when a lens is shoved in her face and talks about how proud she is to be representing her country when a columnist asks her a question.

"You're doing fantastic, Payson," MJ tells her after the Sports Illustrated photographer has taken some shots.

Payson's mouth aches from smiling and she's worried she's going to look constipated in the pictures rather than excited. "Really?" she asks, adjusting her hemline.

"Yes," MJ reassures, her smile as shiny as her purple dress. "And I was right about that colour on you; it really makes the shots pop."

"That's good, right?"

MJ chuckles. "That's very good."

"Payson!" The Sports Illustrated journalist covering the event jogs back over.

Under the guise of taking a canapé from a passing waiter, MJ eases in front of Payson and acts surprised when the journalist appears.

"Oh, hi Tina, did you get everything you needed?" MJ's voice is airy but her eyes are alert. Payson's already noticed how protective MJ becomes whenever the media is around; it's a skill Payson appreciates.

"We were just wondering if we could get some shots of Payson with Coach Belov," Tina continues to try and talk directly to Payson, fobbing MJ off with a tight smile, but MJ's more than used to journalistic tactics to try and separate her from her clients.

"Actually..." MJ somehow has Tina moving away from Payson without actually laying a hand on her. "I was thinking it would be nice to get some with her teammates. Beth, Aundrea, can you come over here a minute, please?"

The two youngest team members are hovering beside the pool: Drea nervously glancing round the crowd of well-dressed strangers; Beth counting the fairy lights in the nearest tree. They respond to MJ's request like the trained athletes they are.

Tina - quickly overcoming her annoyance at not getting a shot of Payson with the coach the rumour mill asserts she's sleeping with - snaps her fingers to alert her photographer and arranges the girls between two fire lanterns, Payson in the middle.

"How do you do this all the time," Drea whispers. "I'm so nervous."

Payson has her arms round her teammates. "Just think of it as another annoying part of training, like ice baths," she whispers back, giving the younger girl a conspiratorial grin.

Drea smiles up at her – the truth is she's just as nervous standing next to Payson as she is in front of the cameras – and the photographer goes into raptures. At fifteen, Drea has already been offered modelling contracts for numerous sports brands, most of which her mother has already accepted, despite Drea's natural shyness.

"Why is that woman's dress see-through?" Beth suddenly says.

Payson and Drea immediately shift their eyes to where Beth is looking. Sure enough, one of the party guests is wearing a tight white dress and is standing at an unfortunate angle to one of the mansion's security lights.

"Bad day to wear a g-string," Beth says, so matter-of-fact that Payson and Drea dissolve into giggles.

"Fantastic!" The photographer exclaims, giving his shooting finger cramp as he snaps as many candid photos of the three girls laughing together as he can.

MJ and Tina, standing to the side, exchange proprietary smiles.

"That's great, thanks girls," Tina announces, freeing the three gymnasts. Payson pretends to blow the air out of her cheeks in relief and Drea revels in sharing a joke with the older gymnast.

"Aundrea?"

Drea's face falls as she spins round to face her mother.

"Mom, we were just..." she stutters.

"They were just getting some pictures for SI," Payson fills in, not bothering to hide her lack of respect for this woman.

"Isn't that nice," Coach Conway smiles, sickly sweet. "Payson, won't you introduce me?" She gestures towards Tina, waving to catch her attention, and Payson can't but make introductions.

"Sorry about this," Drea whispers, making sure she's out of her mother's earshot. Coach Conway has already launched into her usual spiel extolling the virtues of giving her daughter as much of the spotlight as possible.

"No need to apologise," Payson reassures. "I'm sure she's just doing what she thinks is best for you." She manages the lie straight-faced.

"Yeah, I guess." An empty glaze shivers across Drea's eyes and Payson feels a stab of foreboding as Coach Conway drags her daughter in front of the camera again.

Needing a moment to compose herself - that haunted expression on Drea's face has unnerved her - Payson threads through the mingling guests, past the mini-circles of rented canvas chairs, toward the back door she knows leads to the Tanner's kitchen. When she gets inside and finds only the busy caterers occupying the massive open-plan room, she realises she was hoping Sasha would be in here.

Payson has only seen him briefly tonight, when some group shots of team members had been taken arriving at the party. An NGO media rep had forced Sasha to join his gymnasts, positioning him behind Payson, claiming his grey waistcoat and light grey open-necked shirt contrasted well with Payson's green lace dress. Feeling Sasha's chest pressed against her back was such a strong reminder of the Brightside concert that it had nearly upset the delicate internal equilibrium Payson has reached regarding their relationship, the crux of which being that they'll deal with it _after_ Worlds, not before.

Deciding that seeking out Sasha is probably not a good idea, Payson goes in search of the other person who is notable by their absence. Considering the amount of photo opportunities Lauren is voluntarily missing, Payson is worried she may have electrocuted herself with her straightening irons.

"Lauren?" Payson calls as she climbs the sweeping staircase.

The second floor corridor is empty but a light is shining from under Lauren's bedroom door. Payson pads along the carpet and knocks. "Lo?"

"Just a minute."

Payson hears the sniff in the voice and steels herself as she gently pushes the door open. She finds Lauren sitting at the dressing table.

"Lo, what's wrong?" Payson perches on the edge of the bed and watches Lauren's reflection. Her usually perfect makeup is cut through with tear stains.

"What makes you think something's wrong?" Lauren starts crying again.

"Shot in the dark."

"Right," Lauren sighs out a humourless laugh. "Let's play spot the breakdown."

The music from the party lilts through the half-open window and bubbles of laughter rise and break, though Payson doubts much of it is genuine. "You're missing a great party."

"Let me guess: my dad's bribing people with alcohol and knock-off caviar and you've spent at least ten minutes questioning the point of the hummingbird ice-sculptures," Lauren looks at Payson in the mirror, one eyebrow raised.

"Oh, they're supposed to be hummingbirds." Payson makes a note to tell the others; Beth will be disappointed. "Seriously, though, what's going on?"

"It's my own fault," Lauren murmurs, wiping her eyes with a tissue then attacking them with fresh mascara.

"What's your own fault?"

Lauren pauses, one eye painted, the other bare. "I miss Summer," she says softly.

Payson closes her eyes briefly. Of course, Steve and Summer had planned to marry in Rio next week. Payson had completely forgotten.

Lauren smiles at the dressing table. "You probably think I deserve it after what I did to you and Sasha."

Payson may not forgive easily but she's never been vindictive. "I don't think you deserve to be unhappy; I wouldn't wish that on you no matter what you did."

Lauren twists round on her stool, looks at Payson herself rather than Payson's reflection. "I am sorry, you know," she says quietly.

"I know."

They sit for a moment listening to the party noise.

"SI want to get an official photo of the whole team later," Payson says, hoping to cheer Lauren's spirits.

"I miss Kaylie," Lauren admits instead. "A team picture won't look right without her." She pulls open the dressing table drawer and takes out a photo. "Never thought I'd say this - and I will deny everything if you make me repeat it - but I miss Emily too." She hands the photo to Payson.

It was taken at the Cruz's pre-nationals party: Payson, Lauren, Kaylie and Emily squashed together and grinning at the camera.

"Weren't we all fighting when this was taken?" Payson chuckles. It's strange how a situation seemingly so serious can become nostalgic over a short space of time.

"Probably," Lauren says, taking the photo back.

The teammates watch each other's reflections in the mirror.

"I miss them too," Payson says, softly.

The music from outside shifts to a slow tempo number and Payson listens along as Lauren finishes reapplying her makeup.


	18. Chapter 18

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

"Still don't understand why you got to stand in the middle," Lauren snaps.

"Seniority bitches: learn it, live it," Kelly sighs happily.

"At least we're done with smiling for the night; my cheeks hurt," Payson complains, rubbing her mouth.

The three gymnasts are cutting through one of the mansions many passageways on their way back to the main party outside.

"Can't believe that photographer made me kneel down. It totally ruined the line of my dress." Lauren continues to bemoan the choice of team formation.

"Honey, you can't ruin what isn't there," Kelly says, with a sickly sweet smile.

"Shhh," Payson hisses before an outraged Lauren can start in on her defence of her glittery outfit. "Did you hear that?" The long hallway is dimly lit and all the doors off it are closed bar one.

"Kelly being a bitch?" Lauren snaps. "Yeah, we heard."

"No, not that," Payson hisses again, retracing her steps back to the half-open door. "Lauren, what's through there?"

"Formal dining room, we only use it if Gran visits. Why?"

Payson doesn't answer. Slowly, she edges her head round the door jam, far enough that she can see the room without revealing her presence.

"Don't waste your breath, Steve; Sasha won, I lost, and you switched sides; happens all the time."

This time disregarding its effect on her dressline, Lauren ducks to kneel beneath Payson so she too can see who's in the supposedly off-limits dining room. "Oh hell no," she whispers.

"Hell yes, apparently," Payson whispers back.

"Hell what?" Kelly grabs the door frame and levers herself up to tiptoes so her head is above Payson's.

Next to the dark walnut table that dominates the room, Steve Tanner is talking to Ellen Beals.

"I'm still standing and I came tonight to remind everyone that I may be down but I am not out," Ellen states.

"Came tonight to talk in tired cliché she means," Kelly whispers, though her eyes are wide with surprise.

"What are we looking at?"

Sasha, six foot one, doesn't need to stretch in order to look over Kelly's head into the dining room. However, the subsequent screeches of surprise his presence elicits somewhat destroy his team's attempts at subterfuge.

Payson, busy helping Lauren off the floor and back onto her ridiculous heels, has no chance to warn Sasha of what's going on because the door is suddenly dragged fully open by a scowling Steve Tanner.

"Lauren," Steve growls.

"Hi, Daddy," Lauren pulls out her best innocent smile, "we were just..."

"Spying?" Steve snaps. It takes him a second to realise Sasha is standing next to Payson, still frowning in confusion at the situation he's walked into. "We have a visitor," he says to the younger man, and the sudden worry in his voice is enough to put Sasha fully on alert. "You all better come in."

Steve ushers them through the door and checks the corridor to make sure it's empty; this is not an encounter he wants ending up on some muckraker's blog.

"Coach Belov, how nice to see you." Ellen Beals hasn't moved, is leaning against the table, arms folded, watching the group with interest.

"Coach Beals," Sasha says, and if he's shocked to see her here his face betrays nothing.

"What is she doing here?" Lauren asks her father rudely, fear kicking in her defence mechanism of attack.

Ellen cuts in first. "Well, Lauren, since my personal invitation mysteriously got lost in the mail, I thought I'd drop by as a lowly 'NGO member'. I believe it was an open invitation to them, correct, Steve?"

Steve, hands on hips, looks at the wood inlay ceiling. The veins in his neck pulse.

Sasha, so placid it's unnerving, says quietly, "obviously we've interrupted something here, so..." he tries to smile at the girls, "let's return to the party shall we."

"Surely not so soon," Ellen stops them. "I had no idea I'd have the pleasure of seeing so many old friends tonight. We have so much to catch up on."

It's one against five and yet Ellen manages to hold them all in the room; _perhaps_ , Payson thinks, _we've all been waiting for this meeting to happen sooner or later_.

Ellen's attention has focused on Kelly. The venom shared between the former comrades is palpable.

"Kelly, I was starting to wonder why you hadn't returned any of my calls." She looks disdainfully at where Kelly is standing between Payson and Lauren, the girls automatically pressed together for solidarity. "I didn't realise you'd gone native."

"React and adapt, isn't that what you always told me," Kelly says, rigidly calm.

"Indeed," Ellen sneers. "I suppose it was my mistake for expecting loyalty from you, considering what you did to your own mother."

Kelly's runs pale, fury and pain etching across her face.

"And Lauren," Ellen deliberately shifts her target. "I'm so disappointed I haven't got any emails from you lately, especially after that fascinating attachment to the last one. It's such a shame your stepmother – sorry, she never actually became your stepmother did she? – such a shame she felt the need to send the full video to someone else when I would have happily dealt with it. But I suppose this ethics investigation does give me time to catch up on my paperwork."

"What is she talking about?" Breathing hard, Kelly looks between her teammates and the adults, realising she's being kept out of an apparently messy loop.

"I'm sorry, Lauren," Ellen pretends to feel remorse. "Does no one else know how your concern for the safety of your fellow gymnast led you to ask me for help?"

Payson is surprised that Beals can't read on their faces that she, Sasha, and Steve, know it was Lauren who sent the video. _Or maybe we've all just got really good at lying,_ she adds to herself.

"Lauren confessed," Steve steps in front of his daughter, livid that Ellen would make an allusion to Summer's absence from Lauren's life. "So whatever leverage you might have had is gone. You've made your point, now I'd appreciate if you would leave." He remains polite, though sounds more dangerous than genial.

"Oh, I haven't even started to make my point," Ellen sneers, fake smile vanishing, the full level of her contempt becoming obvious.

"Sasha, I don't believe I've had a chance to congratulate you. The NGO certainly made a bold decision, didn't they? Appointing a paedophile as national coach."

The tense room erupts in a roar of protests that ricochet off the marble inlay floor. Only Sasha remains quiet, leaning against the back of the door, rigid as a boxer waiting for the next punch.

"Sasha was completely exonerated from all allegations, Ellen. You've seen the tape, you know that," Steve defends his club's coach.

"Yes, I've seen the tape." Ellen, unaffected by an attack on all sides, seems to be gathering strength from the animosity. "But I've also heard the reports on how much time Payson spends with _Coach_ Belov, how close they've become. I believe they own a dog together?" Ellen sneers again. "One tape may be bogus, but there's no smoke without fire."

"This is low, even for you," Kelly says, disgusted, mirroring Lauren as the two of them step in front of Payson, Lauren's glittery dress rippling with reflected light from the chandelier.

"Bodyguards, how sweet," Ellen says sourly. "Fine, then I'll ask another question that has been doing the rounds at the NGO." She pauses then smiles sweetly and raises her hands. "Who's really the father of Emily Kmetko's baby?"

There is no roar this time because shock keeps everyone's words in their throats.

"Ellen, your problem is obviously with me," Sasha says. He walks calmly into the centre of the room, though Payson sees the tremor in his fingers. "So why don't we have this conversation in private. If you cared about the girls' welfare as much as you profess to then you wouldn't want them put through witnessing this."

"Hit a little too close to the bone did I, Belov?" Ellen half spits, anger starting to get the better of her chilled facade.

"What is it exactly you want?" Payson can't stay quiet any longer. She remains behind her teammates but her voice carries enough anger to land like a physical punch. "We get it. You're bitter that Sasha got the national coaching job and you didn't. You're bitter because Kelly and Lauren figured out what a manipulative bitch you are. Be as bitter as you want, just don't do it here. I don't know if you heard or not, but we've got a world championship to win in six days and you are no part of that, thank god."

Ellen studies Payson as silence rings through the room. "Well, well, look who finally grew a spine. Oh, I'm sorry, is that in poor taste?"

Steve has to restrain Lauren.

"Bitter? You're damn right I'm bitter." Ellen is no longer speaking, she's shouting, all pretence of control gone. "I've worked for the NGO for twenty years. I have dedicated my life to women's gymnastics in this country! But you're wrong if you think this is about personal ambition. I'm bitter because you," she wrinkles her nose at Sasha, "and your _Rock_ _Rebels_ have dragged this team's reputation through the mud. Don't believe me?" She directs the barb at Payson. "Let's review the facts shall we? We will have no national champion representing us at Worlds this year because she was allowed to starve herself half to death. Every single article written about this team will be preceded by repetition of Emily Kmetko's arrest at World trials and her subsequent pregnancy, because scandal sells." Her lips drop in disgust. "Before this year, every women's team was deferential and respectful to the honour of representing their country. And then this _team_ decided to ignore every standard set by better and more experienced gymnasts, believing they knew better than the NGO. That worked out real well, didn't it? How's the back, Payson?"

"That was not Sasha's fault!" Payson yells.

Ellen ignores her. "A throwaway sentence in the fine print is all that has ever been needed to define appropriate behaviour for a US team member. We have had to institute a detailed, entirely separate and - believe me - well publicised, honor code in order to get it through _your_ heads what is expected from you. But I suppose flouting all the rules in the first place must have been exciting: swapping boyfriends; screwing your coaches; ratting your teammates out to improve your position; and Lauren, our best beamer, we are all so proud that your routine wouldn't look out of place in a strip club."

"That is enough, Ellen!" Steve shouts, putting an arm around Lauren. "I don't care who you work for, get the hell out of my house!"

"This is the best the good old US of A has to offer?" Ellen spares them all one final look, as if it infects her just to stand in the same room. "Then god help us in London next year. But let me tell you one thing: when you're all thrown out on your asses, I'll be the one there to pick up the pieces and return this team to its lost glory. Oh and Sasha? If any of the girls gets hurt at Worlds, make sure they see a doctor. Wouldn't want you to have another dead gymnast on your conscience." With that, feet clacking against the marble, she stalks from the room, leaving the door rocking on its hinges.

Payson is shaking. She tries to stop, tries to steady her nerve, but can't. She reaches out to Sasha, puts a hand on his arm – how could Ellen have taunted him about Amelia? – but the second her skin touches his he walks from the room without looking back.

"Someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?" Kelly bursts out as Lauren folds into her father's arms and Payson slumps down on the nearest chair.

* * *

"So it was you," Kelly says. Again. "This whole time, it was you who sent that video and caused all that crap."

"Take a shot, Parker. Beals already called me a stripper in front of my father tonight; think you can top that?" Lauren retorts, angrily wiping tears off her face.

The corridor is stuffy but it's better than having to face a crowd of people and pretend nothing's happened. Kelly and Payson lean against one wall, Lauren against the other; jury opposite accused.

"And you knew?" Kelly turns to Payson instead. "I can't believe you knew and you're still talking to her. You, Payson 'I worship the rules' Keeler, didn't turn her in."

"Hey, I said turn the insults on me, leave her alone." Lauren cuts in, kicking off her shoes as if preparing to fight if necessary.

"That wasn't an insult," Kelly throws at Lauren, keeping her eyes on Payson.

A buzz is ringing in Payson's ears, like she's standing too close to a speaker, like she landed a dismount on her head. She feels far away.

"Lauren turned herself in," Payson mutters. "And it's ancient history so can we stop talking about it?"

"Seriously?" Kelly is incredulous. "Ancient history?" She glances back and forth between her teammates. "Ok, am I missing something here? Are you working the steps?"

"She's not an alcoholic, Kelly," Lauren snaps.

"I'm just trying to understand why she's being so forgiving," Kelly defends herself. "Wait." She thinks for a minute. "Are you two together? Was this a jealous girlfriend thing?"

Payson and Lauren look at Kelly.

"What? It's possible!" Kelly is now pacing. "Wow. Lauren, I knew you were a bitch but," Kelly stops, apparently dumbfounded. "Just wow."

" _You're_ calling _me_ a bitch?" Lauren squares up to her teammate. Still reeling from Ellen Beals' verbal assault she needs to attack someone. "After some of the shit you've pulled? You complete hypocrite!"

"I think this puts you right up there with me," Kelly keeps her voice low down but gets into Lauren's face. "And don't start something you can't finish."

"Shut up! Both of you!" Payson suddenly snaps, pushing herself off the wall. This is not where she should be. "Lo, can I borrow your car?"

"What?" Lauren crumples her brow.

"Your car, can I borrow it?" Payson says louder, frustration taking over.

"Here," Kelly says, pulling keys out of her purse. "Take mine. Hers will have got buried on the driveway, mine's right out front, it'll be quicker."

"Wait," Lauren says, confused as Payson grabs the keys from Kelly, shoots her a smile of thanks, and bolts from the corridor. "Where the hell is she going?"

"Take a wild guess," Kelly says, watching Payson's green dress disappear round the corner.


	19. Chapter 19

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

Moonlight filters through the glass door throwing the Rock logo into shadowed relief on the blue carpet. Payson sidesteps the outlined mountain; it seems unlucky somehow to stand on it.

The alarms are off and the door was open. Like he had anywhere else to go.

Payson has always preferred the Rock at night, the illusion of privacy it gives this airplane hanger of a building, the swell of danger in training in the half-dark. She edges through the internal door, slipping her shoes off and leaving them by the stairs. It's wrong for her not to be bare foot here; she only feels safe if the mat connects directly with her skin.

Light fans through the air from one thin striplight, dusting the uneven bars with yellow. The beams, the vaults, the mats, everything else that defines this building as a gymnastics facility is covered by black shadow. Sasha's standing beneath the higher of the bars, once smart suit dressed down by untucked shirt tails and rolled up sleeves.

"You know it's a security risk to leave the door unlocked like that?" Payson points her toes as she walks across the mat, a habit she'll never break. "I locked it behind me incase you were wondering." She stops beside the apparatus that has defined her life and wonders how her voice can be so steady when her heart is thumping so hard.

Sasha's staring up at the bar, hands in his pockets. "You know what the worst thing is?" He sounds normal but Payson can read the lines on his pale face. "Everything she said was the truth."

Payson leans against the lower support pole. "Her version of the truth, maybe, which is as twisted as she is."

Sasha closes his eyes and laughs slowly; a hollow, ugly noise that has Payson frowning. "I kissed you, Payson," he says, through a deep sigh fuelled by the self-loathing Payson can see all over him, shattering their promise to save this reckoning until after Worlds.

"And I kissed you. So what?" She tries to sound strong enough for the both of them.

"So what?" Sasha looks at her like she just suggested a cartwheel and a somersault will be enough to secure all-around gold. "You're seventeen."

"Eighteen next month," Payson says, not quite confrontational.

Sasha laughs again. "Because that makes it so much better." Hands still in his pockets, he rocks on his feet. Payson notices he's not wearing shoes or socks either.

"All this time and you still have to feel it too." She stares at his disjointed feet, aged before their time. Gymnastics takes years off a body. Payson doubts she'll be able to walk in heels past the age of thirty.

"You need to go."

"No." Payson's refusal is soft but seems to fill the empty vast cavern around them. She knew as she was driving here that they would not leave the same people they were when they walked in, for better or for worse.

Sasha's teeth are clamped together; Payson can see it in the tightness of his jaw.

"What happened to Amelia was not your fault." Of all Ellen's cruel words, her parting shot had to have hit the hardest.

Sasha looks away. His hands are tight in his pockets but his arms betray the tremor he's trying to hide.

"It happened on my watch. It's all happened on my watch." His voice is rasped with emotion.

"People make their own choices, Sasha." Payson steps away from the lower bar. "You can't take everything on yourself."

"Why not?" Harsh and unforgiving, his eyes match his tone.

"Because that's not how the world works." The words pop out before Payson even realises they've formed in her mind.

Sasha shakes his head. "How would you know how the world works?"

A rush sprints through Payson's blood. "I came here to talk, Sasha, but it you want a fight, we can do that instead."

His fist thumps his thigh. "Stop it." He's crackling with pain.

"Stop what?" Payson murmurs, taking a step toward him.

Sasha spins away. "You need to go." His back muscles strain his cotton shirt as his breathing labours. Payson imagines resting a hand between his shoulder blades.

"And you need to talk to me."

"I can't!" He wheels round, throwing out his arms. "You're seventeen!"

"And how does that affect my hearing?" Payson shoots back. She's starting to boil too.

"It affects everything!" His wild eyes roam the shadows as if a killer is preparing to leap from the dark. "You affect everything." A judder sneaks under his anger and Payson's throat tightens.

"Sasha." Her eyes are starting to burn.

"Don't you understand?!" He's yelling so loud now she should be scared. "Don't you get it?! I can't be in love with a teenager!"

Silence follows unexpected truth. Payson sees fear in Sasha's shining blue eyes. Something is beginning to tear inside her. Something is struggling to unleash and she's past the point of wanting to stop it.

"Don't _you_ understand?!" Payson's surprised by her own volume but she doesn't stop. "Don't _you_ get that I swore I would never fall in love while I was still a gymnast? I guess that means we both screwed up, doesn't it!"

They look away, look to the walls beyond the light's reach, look – perhaps - for the world they inhabited before their joint truth was spoken aloud.

"You're seve..."

"Oh my God! Will you stop saying my age as if it defines who I am!" Payson explodes, reeling round to glare at the infuriating man with a martyr's complex a mile wide who has taken the heart she swore she would never give away until it wore gold. "Ok, I'm a teenager, ok, you're my coach, but can we please stop acting like I'm some normal gymnast, like I'm some _normal_ teenager.

"I shouldn't even be here! Don't you get _that_ , Sasha?" Payson's shouting with every cell in her lungs, her voice shredding what's left of the barriers of convention and propriety between them.

"I should be in a wheelchair! Hell, I should be dead! A millimetre either way and I would have been. Do you think I don't remember that every damn day of my life? Do you think that Emily's little pep talk getting me to throw that first vault just made me forget everything? I _remember_ , Sasha."

Payson half runs to the bars, jumps and smacks the highest so hard reverberation rattles round the gym like breaking chains. "I tried to hold on! I tore my damn fingernails but I couldn't, I couldn't hold it! I tried grabbing air. I tried to twist away because I knew - I _knew_ , Sasha - that I was going to land on my neck. I may have only fallen for half a second but I remember it like I fell for a fucking _decade_!"

Saliva flickers over Payson's chin, mixing with the tears she didn't realise she was crying. She smacks the bar again. "Every time I jump on this _thing_ I remember. Do you not get what that means? I'm not like Lo or Kelly or Beth or Drea, they may think they know what it means to fall but really they have no fucking clue! I know what I'm risking because I broke myself for this sport! I broke myself and I risk breaking myself again every fucking day because I have some insane gene in me that won't let me stop until I'm either the best or I'm _dead_."

One step, a pause, then another step; Sasha moves so slowly Payson doesn't notice.

"And you know what else?" She almost spits at him. "I don't recognise you when I watch the footage from Atlanta or Sydney. That guy who flipped off reporters and started fights with his teammates? That arrogant kid who got called Rebel? I don't know that guy. I don't know that guy because that guy died the day Amelia did. Just like the girl who believed following the rules and doing what she was told was all you needed to succeed in life died the day she hit that mat at Nationals." Tears run watery ribbons over Payson's cheeks. "We both know what it's like for one second to completely change who you are. We understand each other, Sasha, in a way no one else does. Now try and tell me, what the hell has age got to do with that?"

Sasha is five feet away, looking at her as if she's about to set the world on fire. His pupils have blown fathoms wide. "I want to help you achieve your dreams. I want to keep you safe."

Payson is shaking so hard her vision vibrates.

"They'll take you away from me." Sasha's voice trembles and bleeds.

"I won't let them." Payson has never uttered words she meant more.

There's a pause, seemingly endless, then, either she moves first, or he does, or perhaps the whole world contracts and the tremor throws them together. Payson jumps and Sasha catches. She wraps both legs round his waist and he inches hands up under her dress to brand fingerprints into her bare thighs. Lips move together, fast and hard, not caring if they catch teeth or tongue.

Sasha's shirt bunches against her inner thighs as Payson tightens her legs around him. He cups the back of her neck with his large palm, pulling her closer, keeps it there when their lips break apart and Payson rests her forehead on his.

"No one is going to take you away from me," Payson vows, nudging her nose against Sasha's, wrists crossed behind his neck, ankles crossed tight against his lower back.

Cradling her to him with one arm and kissing her until she forgets that anything but this moment exists, Sasha smacks the uneven bar so hard Payson swears she hears it break.

* * *

Checking the rear-view and clicking on the turning signal, Payson starts to turn Kelly's car onto Lauren's street. Sasha is resting his hand lightly atop one of hers on the steering wheel. A pulsing beat is audible in the air and both sides of the road are lined with parked cars.

"I guess the party's still g

A speeding Volkswagen smashes into the passenger side of their convertible with a force that sends them all careering across the street.


	20. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

Hearing returns first: hissing, like water drops on a steam iron; crunching, like stomping on an empty coke can; whistling, like the deflating of a balloon. Feeling comes back in waves: seat belt pressure from shoulder to hip; throbbing in her forehead. Payson tries to pull her eyes open but the left one is stuck. The dark world is jolting, fuzzy edges marking what should be solid. There are voices somewhere.

A car. Not her car. She was driving to Lauren's. Such a loud noise, the loudest she's ever heard. There are lights - moving lights - red and blue. Her right eye - her only working eye - keeps closing.

What time is it? Where's Sasha? Is her mouth talking or is it her mind? Sasha's at the Rock with Phoebe, like always. No, he's at Lauren's house - that was why she was driving there.

The car shifts, shifts again. Something's knocking into it, right beside her. A face. A broken face. No. A broken window; a whole face.

Where's Sasha? He left Lauren's, walked away. But he said he'd never walk away?

An enormous shudder and a bang and god, it's so cold. The face again. A woman. Her mouth is moving. What's wrong with her voice?

"Sasha." Payson's throat cuts. She knows she spoke out loud that time.

"...ok...he's...help..." Why is the strange woman not talking properly? Why's it so dark out?

Dark; night; Lauren's party; yelling; so much hate; so much love; headlights: so many pictures and words and why won't it go in order? Why did she get out of the car? Sasha was in the car. They were driving. Why did the car stop? Why...

"Sasha!" Payson flies forward and is thrown back by her seatbelt. The paramedic holds her shoulders.

"Payson? Payson, I need you to listen to me."

"Where's Sasha?! Is he ok?! Where is he?!"

"Payson, you've been in a car accident. I need you to stay still for me. You're going to be fine; we just need to get you out. Now tell me, can you move your legs?"

"I don't..." Why is this woman talking at her? Is Payson supposed to know her? "Yeah," she stammers. She wiggles one foot, then the other. Her shoe falls off. Her knee brushes the deflating airbag.

"That's great, Payson. Ok..."

"You know my name. How do you?" Her left eye won't open. Why won't her left eye open?

"Your parents are close by, Payson, they're just down the street; you can see them as soon as we get you out of here."

Another massive clunk, another massive shudder, more cold, more wind. Payson moves her head. It hurts. Her only eye keeps blinking without her telling it to. More lights, a strong yellow one, another person, a man? He's speaking like the strange woman but not to Payson. Who's he talking to?

Another face, just near her, tipped away to look at the strange man. Someone's sitting next to her. This is a car. This is Kelly's car.

"Sasha," the strange man says the name. "Sasha, can you hear me, buddy? If you can hear me open your eyes."

Blood. So much blood. Sasha's blood. Payson screams and the world goes black.

* * *

A lighthouse beacon burrows into each eye. It comes often, a piercing line of white. He tries to hold his eyes shut but someone won't let him.

"I know, all you wanna do is sleep but I gotta check." A strange voice keeps talking to him. It drifts in and out, muttering numbers and words he can't catch.

One side of his body is dead, one side of his face. There's no pain now but he knows it's there, waiting to pounce, to rip through him like grappling irons. He's lying down, or perhaps he's standing up and the rest of the world is lying down. Does he know this room?

"Hey, it's ok." He knows that voice, knows those chalk hardened fingers brushing along the side of his face that's still alive, that can still feel.

"Don't try and sit up. There's been an accident, do you remember? A car t-boned us."

Car? Yes, a car he wasn't driving. There had been bright lights. So many bright lights attacking him. Then darkness.

"Shhh, it's ok, I'm here."

"Payson?" The name tastes so natural that Sasha says it again.

"Yes," delight in the voice. "Welcome back, sleepy head."

"Where?"

"You're in the hospital. You're ok though. No." Hand on one shoulder; it feels so heavy he stops trying to move. "The doctors say you have to rest, they've pumped you full of pain meds so everything probably feels all fuzzy. It's a good thing you're not the one having to take a drug test this week." That beautiful smile. The room is too bright and he wants to close his eyes but he can't stop looking at that beautiful smile.

Lips touch his face. "The others will be back in a minute so I have to be quick. I don't know how much you remember, or if anything I'm saying is making sense to you right now, but," the voice presses against his ear, "I love you so much." Something splashes on his face, then fingertips brush over the same spot.

"Love you," he tries to murmur as his eyes fail him.

* * *

"Lucky, very lucky, couple of millimetres the other way and...well, no point in talking about that."

"How long will he have to be in for?"

"Couple of days for observation because of the concussion. Need to check those stitches too. Facial sutures can be temperamental. The ribs we can only treat with painkillers and ice, I'm afraid, but we'll put a full cast on that arm in the morning."

Different voices, though he recognises one. A woman. He should know her name. Someone's holding his hand.

"Doctor? He's waking up." _Payson_. "Hey, it's ok." Her voice is further away this time.

"Good evening, Mr Belov. Well, actually, Good Middle of the Night. I don't believe there is an acknowledged greeting for one o'clock in the morning; someone should really get on that. Anyway, you don't care about the semantics of the English language right now I'm sure."

"Pay..."

"What was that, Mr Belov?"

"Payson."

"What's a Payson?" The strange man - no, the doctor - sounds confused.

"I'm a Payson." The hand tightens round his as a laugh sounds from the side of the bed.

Bed. Yes, that's right; Payson told him he was in the hospital. An accident. Car accident. His head tips, the mass of lights and colours and shapes start to separate, to form images he knows. Kim, that's her name, Kim. The bald man must be the doctor. Lower, sitting down, Payson's smiling but the smile's not right. Blonde hair pulled away from her face. Why is there red in her blonde hair?

"Hurt?" There's a beeping noise, a shrill, steady pip-pip that's speeding up. Can't someone turn that off? Bruises, her face is bruised: that's what's wrong with the smile.

"Sasha," Payson says his name slowly like that when she's annoyed at him. "I'm fine ok, I hit my head on the window, but the nurses said the cut on my forehead was just superficial. I need you to calm down, ok?"

Bruises, she hit her head. That damn beep, it's getting louder.

"Your head? You hit your head?" He needs to sit up, he needs to tell them.

"Woh there, cowboy." That's Kim; Kim needs to know. "Do as you're told and stay still."

Pain explodes through his side. He tries to suck in air but his lungs won't work.

"God, you are the most stubborn...lie back down, or do you want me to break some more of your ribs?"

"Please, Sasha, we're just trying to help." Payson sounds upset; she can't get upset; she hit her head. "That's it, just lay there and calm down."

"Take her to a doctor; you have to... don't let her go home!"

"Is he supposed to be this agitated?" Kim sounds angry.

"Concussion plus shock is never a great combination." The doctor again. "Let's calm you down a bit shall we, Mr Belov."

It's raining in his blood. That's not right. Water goes in your mouth; why does his hand feel like it's drinking? Soft edges; tired, suddenly so tired. No! They need to make sure.

"Don't let her home...Need to...doctor!"

"Shhh, it's ok. He's given you something to help you sleep, don't fight it."

"No home!...Hit her head... You have to take Amelia...!"

"Sasha, Sasha, listen to me. Hey, it's Payson, ok? I'm Payson, and the doctors have checked my head, I'm fine. I promise, I'm fine."

"No! Don't let Amelia go home!"

Hands, so many hands, he doesn't know any of them but they're touching him, holding him down. Why won't they listen to him? The machine is beeping so fast; _turn it off!_ The strange hands are calling numbers to each other. Someone's crying. Too tired. Too heavy. They can't let her go home. Too...

* * *

"No milk, no sugar, no taste buds apparently." Kelly hands Payson the steaming cup of coffee and drops down into the plastic seat beside her.

"Thanks," Payson murmurs, her attention not leaving the bed. The room is split down the middle by a faded cream curtain and Sasha has the bed nearest the door. He's sleeping; it's easier for Payson to think of it in those terms rather than the more accurate 'medically induced unconscious state'.

"Please don't make me ask again 'cause, gotta tell you, this whole acting concerned thing gets real old real quick."

Payson blinks. "What?"

"Are. You. Ok?" Kelly asks, for the third time.

The heart monitor bleeps steadily.

"Other than embarrassed at fainting when I saw Sasha's blood everywhere, yeah," Payson sighs.

The paramedics had checked her for concussion but quickly found the bump and cut on her head were only minor, though they have left her with a fairly impressive black eye and one set of eyelashes clumped with dry blood.

"I'll edit that bit out of the story, don't worry."

"Story?" Payson says, looking at Kelly for the first time. They're both still in their formal wear though Payson has on a random sweatshirt and Kelly's mascara is streaked down her face.

"To psyche out the competition," she explains. "Our coach and _second_ best gymnast walk away from a hideous car crash and yet team USA is still ready to win."

"Sasha didn't walk away."

The sheets are pulled up to his chin, his arms resting on top. A drip is attached to his good hand, the other arm is enclosed in a temporary cast, and his face is half hidden by a thick dressing.

"Fine, limped away. It'll still give an aura of invincibility."

"Are you really that calculating?"

Kelly shrugs her mouth and takes a gulp of her own coffee. "You get inside people's head and they beat themselves. Why do you think I was always such a bitch to you?"

"Because you _are_ a bitch?"

"Well, there is that." Kelly smiles in the dim room. Outside, running feet clatter down the corridor. "But it was also because I couldn't scare you into being off your game. I had to try and piss you off as much as possible instead. Angry people don't perform as well."

Payson wants to hold Sasha's hand but she's scared she'll start crying again. "That's a lonely way to win, Kelly."

An almost laugh. "I suppose it was."

The other car had ignored the stop sign; there was no way Payson could have gotten out of the way in time. Still. "This is my fault."

"Don't be dumb." A deep sigh. "Oh, come here. He's going to be ok." Kelly slips an arm round Payson's shoulders. "You're going to be ok."

A triangle of light spills across the floor as the door eases open.

"Has something happened?" Lauren sounds panicked as she rushes over and crouches down beside Payson, taking her hand.

"Shock," Kelly mouths and Lauren nods, fear subsiding a little.

Payson's face is empty as she stares at the bed.

"I was just saying to Payson how this is so going to mess with their heads in Rio," Kelly says, louder this time, widening her eyes at Lauren to play along. "Not even a car crash can stop team USA."

"Hell yeah," Lauren enthuses. Her eyes are still wet. Her father's jacket is draped over her shoulders. She rubs Payson's hand as Kelly keeps an arm round her shoulders. "And we've got your back, Pay. Whatever you need, we've got it covered."

"The two baddest bitches in gymnastics watching your back, no one's going to mess with you." Kelly tries to smile through her tears and Lauren does the same.

Payson drops her head onto Kelly's shoulder but her eyes still don't move.

The triangle of light appears again.

"Hey girls."

Kelly and Lauren turn, find Kim and Steve haloed in the doorway. Steve eases the door shut behind them and the room darkens.

"Hey," the pair murmur, standing up and giving Kim space to crouch down in front of her daughter.

"Honey, I think it's time we headed home, ok? The doctor says Sasha will be out for hours." Kim ghosts a hand over Payson's face, too afraid of hurting her to actually touch the bruised skin.

"What if he wakes up and freaks out again?" Payson whispers.

"He'll freak out if he finds you missed out on a whole night's sleep six days before Worlds," Kelly says from the end of the bed.

"And if he finds out you sat for ten hours in a hard plastic chair," Lauren chips in. She's being hugged by her father.

"And Becca's really worried about you," Kim adds, blinking hard. She won't let herself break down.

The mention of Becca's name finally breaks Payson's stare. "She is?" Payson looks down at her mom.

"Daddy went home to tell her what was going on. She's scared for her big sister." Kim knows she's playing a guilt trip but she has no scruples tonight; she'll do whatever is necessary to look after her eldest daughter.

"We'll come back in the morning?" Payson ventures, wiping her eyes then wincing when she presses too hard.

"First thing," Kim promises, helping Payson stand.

"He's got great insurance, Payson, we'll make sure he gets the best care," Steve says, holding tight to his own daughter.

Payson finds she's in the corridor, chaperoned by her friends and family, before she realises she didn't tell Sasha goodnight.


	21. Chapter 21

**CHAPTER TWENTY ONE**

"Is Kelly mad about her car?" Kaylie tries a joke, anything to get the haunted look off her friend's face.

Payson rewards her with a tiny smile. "I haven't asked."

They are standing in the corridor outside the private room Steve organised for Sasha to be moved to earlier in the day, watching the nurse wrap on his new cast.

"They said he'd be discharged tomorrow, Pay," Kaylie reassures.

"I know," Payson murmurs, taking a deep breath and wincing a little. Her body is still jarred from last night.

"Lo said things were crazy at the Rock this morning," Kaylie continues her mostly solo conversation, eager to keep Payson distracted. "Apparently that NGO guy showed up and Marty came by and they were arguing about who should take charge. Marty was sticking up for Sasha if you can believe it. Then your mom totally owned everyone and threw them out of the gym and told them not to come back until they could discuss things like rational adults." Kaylie has been getting hourly updates from Lauren all day; the first being a panicked phone call at six that morning.

"It's not even been twenty four hours," Payson says, frowning so hard her eyes hurt.

"I know," Kaylie says, guessing at her friends meaning when Payson doesn't continue. "The NGO are total vultures. And then," she says when Payson offers no comment, "the pee collectors decided today would be a great time to show up to get everyone's samples for pre-Worlds drug testing. Lauren was really pissed." Kaylie smiles, hoping the joke will coax a reaction from Payson. Nothing.

Unable to think of anything else to say, Kaylie sighs and puts an arm round her friend's waist. "Oh, Pay. I'm so sorry," she murmurs.

"The NGO can go to hell if they think they're keeping either of us from getting on that plane to Rio."

Kaylie looks pityingly at Payson's profile, wishing her friend's stubbornness was enough to make that statement true. "Damn right they can," she says, boldly.

Through the viewing window, they watch the nurse move to change the dressing on Sasha's face. Kaylie glances away, not being able to look at the damage underneath.

* * *

"Look, Phoebe! Your daddy's home," Becca says to the little dog, lifting up Phoebe's paw to wave at her parents and Sasha as they walk slowly from the car. She's under strict instructions to keep Phoebe from jumping on Sasha and also to keep the noise down; Becca's not sure she's going to be very good at the second part.

"Hey," she beams as the three adults enter the house. She has to fight to keep the smile steady when she gets a good look at her former coach, but her dad sees her shock and slips an arm round her shoulders, dropping a kiss on her head, murmuring, "looks worse than it is" so only she can hear.

"Hey Becs," Sasha tries for a smile but with half of his face bandaged it doesn't work too well. "Thanks for taking care of Phoebe." He is walking very deliberately, placing each step as carefully as possible so as not to jolt his ribs or his bad knee, which has flared up after its collision with the dashboard. He's trying to keep his pain medication low – despite the doctor's advice and Kim telling him he's an idiot – because he needs a clear head.

"We've put you in Payson's room; she's going to bunk in with Becca," Kim says, hovering beside him like he's a toddler ready to topple over at any moment. He can't blame her; the cast on his left arm may be light but, in his current fragility, even its small weight is wrecking his balance.

"I really appreciate this," Sasha says, for the tenth time since they left the hospital.

"Told you, bill is in the mail," Mark jokes. Guilt swirls in Sasha's already aching gut at the man's kindness. Mark has made it clear that Sasha can stay as long as he needs, since returning to the Airstream on his own is not an option with his injuries.

There are flowers on Payson's dresser and a big red 'get well soon' balloon floating in the corner.

"You like it?" Becca grins hopefully from the doorway.

"It's great," Sasha says as he eases himself down to sit on the bed. Someone somewhere has got a sick sense of humour putting him in Payson's bed like this.

"Right," Kim says, all business. "You need another round of pain meds and don't even think about arguing with me because I will hold your nose until you swallow. Marty's gonna bring you some clothes from the trailer. Are you thirsty? I'll get you some water. Becca, can you go dig out the water jug? I think it's in the cupboard by the fridge. Thanks sweetie. Now, are you hungr..."

"What my beautiful - and not at all controlling wife - is trying to say: yell if you need anything," Mark bravely interrupts and gets a slap on the arm for his trouble as he ushers Kim out of the room. Sasha listens to the argument disappear beyond his hearing and takes a deep sigh.

He'll call the Rock in a minute. In Kim's absence this afternoon, Marty's holding things together while Chris and Jules take charge of training. He's going to have to make it into the gym tomorrow though, at least for a while. According to a friend of his at NGO headquarters, officials are warring over replacing him before Worlds and, as the most likely candidate - despite the ethics investigation - is Ellen Beals, Sasha will crawl to the damn gym if needs be to prove he's fully capable of continuing the job. He just needs to rest for a moment. He lies back on the bed, stack of pillows carefully arranged by Becca unable to stop a crunch issuing from his ribcage. Despite the pain, sleep swallows him within seconds.

* * *

A door slams.

" _Lauren._ "

"Sorry."

Sasha blinks and swallows. It's dark. It doesn't smell like the hospital. Payson and Becca smile at him out of a photo frame on the bedside dresser. _Payson's room, right_ , he remembers. God, how long was he out? He's checking the room for a clock, unable to summon the energy to do more than lift his head, when there's a light tap at the door.

"Yeah," he grunts and, hell, he must be in poor shape, he just sounded exactly like his father.

The door eases open and the main light snaps on. He clamps his eyes shut.

"Lauren!"

"What? It's dark!"

When Sasha opens his eyes again, the garish central bulb is out and a soothing yellow light spills from a corner lamp.

"Sorry, Coach," Lauren says, smiling at him. The three girls are standing at the foot of the bed, all in their national team uniforms. He keeps his attention on Lauren and Kelly; he daren't look at Payson right now.

"Why aren't you lot at training?" he grunts.

"It's eight o'clock. We figured we'd done enough for the day," Kelly answers. From this angle, Sasha thinks it looks like she has two rats poking out of her head. Eight pm, he's been asleep for four hours then; so much for a quick nap.

"How are you feeling?" Lauren drops onto the end of the bed. The bounce the movement sends through the mattress has his ribs complaining.

"Never become a nurse," Kelly chastises, aiming a slap at Lauren's arm.

"What I do?"

As the other two bicker, Sasha can't stop himself any longer from glancing up at Payson. The bruise ringing one eye and the thin butterfly sutured cut along her hairline cause him much more pain than his broken arm and cracked ribs. She gives him a half smile.

"Well, you suck as a visitor too," Lauren is accusing Kelly.

Payson hides a laugh behind her hand and her eyes twinkle at Sasha.

"Didn't Beth give you something to pass on," Payson prompts.

"Right." Lauren bounces up, sending another jolting wave through the mattress, and digs into her jacket pocket. "Here." She hands Sasha a card.

Sasha gingerly reaches out his good arm to accept the offering. If the girls' expressions are anything to go by, the movement doesn't look particularly healthy.

"Can I just say? I had nothing to do with that." Kelly advises as Sasha opens the envelope and pulls out a hand-drawn card with 'Get Well Soon' on the front.

"To Coach," Sasha reads aloud, "I'm glad you didn't die because that would have sucked."

Lauren bursts out laughing. Kelly's hand goes to her forehead.

"You are the only coach I've ever had who's never called me weird. Love Beth."

Sasha will blame the pain meds for the sudden rush of water to his eyes.

"Alright girls, you've said hello, now out." Kim bustles in with a large glass of water and a bottle of pills. "You wanna do this the easy way or the hard way."

The girls giggle and Sasha dramatically sighs. "Well, when you put it like that..."

"Good boy." Kim smirks as he downs the pills in one gulp.

She turns her attention to Kelly. "You're welcome to stay over again tonight. I don't like the idea of you driving back to Denver so late."

"Are you sure it's no trouble?" Kelly wears the same expression of surprise that someone gives a damn if she's alone in her rented apartment or not which she had last night when Kim insisted she accompany them home and sleep in their spare room.

"Of course not, sweetie," Kim coos, maternal instincts kicking in again for the lonely girl. "If you can ignore the piles of junk, the spare room is yours for as long as you want it." She gives Kelly a quick squeeze. "Now," she gives all the girls a mock frown, "out!"

"Mo-om!" Becca's voice ploughs through the wall. "Marty's on the phone! He wants to know when he should bring over the clothes and the hair clippers!"

"Tell him..." Kim starts to shout then, noticing how Sasha winces at the noise, holds back the rest of the instruction and quickly ushers the girls out of the room.

Sasha flops back against his pillows, exhausted. He's asleep a few minutes later when the door eases open an inch and two sets of eyes appear in the gap.

"See," Payson whispers to Phoebe, "he's going to be fine." She's so glad Phoebe doesn't understand what tears mean.

* * *

Becca requires two alarm clocks to wake her in the morning, so Payson has no fear of disturbing her sister as she eases herself off the bed and tiptoes out of the room. The bathroom light is spilling from under the door, having been left on because Sasha and Kelly aren't familiar with the house and the hallway is pitch without it. Payson pauses beside her parent's door and listens. Her dad's breathing; her mom's lightly snoring. That's as much confirmation as she's going to get from out here. She'll just have to hope Kelly's a sound sleeper considering the spare room shares an internal wall with her own.

The door eases open under her gentle palm. Moonlight creeps through the half-open slatted blinds stretching white streaks through the air. The body in her bed is as pale as a corpse; Payson swallows hard and tells herself not to be so melodramatic.

To ward off the nighttime coolness of her house, Payson has pulled Sasha's hoodie over her pajamas. She fiddles with the long cuffs as she quietly pads across the carpet. Her own mattress seems foreign as she lightly sits on one edge. Sasha's medication must have kicked in hard because she strokes his hand for ten minutes - learning the protruding veins, the calloused fingers - before he comes to.

"Pay?"

For a few moments, two nights ago, Payson thought she'd never hear that voice again.

"Hey, sleepyhead," she whispers, touching the unmarked side of his face.

Sasha curses quietly as he rolls his neck, struggling to sit up from where he's slumped down during his sleep.

"It's ok," Payson tells him gently, helping him into a more seated position. The nurse said it was best to lie slightly elevated to keep pressure off his ribs.

"You know," she says, slightly nervous as it's the first time they've been alone since the crash, "I'm not sure the prisoner of war thing is a good look for you." She runs a palm over his new buzz cut, expertly shaved by Marty a few hours ago.

Sasha smiles without opening his eyes. "I got a face full of stitches and a cast on my arm, none of which I'm allowed to get wet; this is a look that doesn't need much washing."

"Always practical, huh?" The short hairs cut under her nails as she gently scratches. Sasha sighs, almost moans.

"Like that?" Payson murmurs without thinking, lulled by the darkness, her voice low and unfamiliar even to her own ears.

Sasha's eyes snap open. Moonlight catches in them like a blown fuse.

"What?" Payson draws her hand back, sitting up straighter.

Sasha glances away with an almost reluctant smile. "Nothing, it's just..."

Payson gets it. "Kinda feels weird, doesn't it. Us..." She looks away too, a little embarrassed.

"A little," Sasha admits, tipping his head toward her.

Payson watches the get well soon balloon sway in the tiny breeze seeping in through the slither of open window. "You don't," she pauses. "You don't regret it, do you?"

His good hand clasps hers. "No." It's the strongest his voice has been since the accident.

Payson nods at her carpet but her smile is still shy when she turns back. "Me either," she whispers. There is a slight shake in her as she leans down toward him but fear has never stopped her before from trying for what she wants. The kiss is chaste but so full of emotion that tears spark in Payson's eyes as she eases away.

"That bad?" Sasha jokes, lifting his good hand and dusting it down Payson's cheek.

Payson catches his hand and holds it to her face. "I was so scared," she whispers. She can still see the hurtling lights; still hear the crash of metal on metal; still feel the moment when she thought he was dead.

"I know," Sasha murmurs, using all his strength to guide Payson down on to the bed next to him. She curls up on her side, head resting on the pillow, fearful of touching him, of hurting him. She cries silently beside his neck. Their tangled reflection is just visible in the dresser mirror, a bundled up mass of grey and white.

"Do you believe in God, Payson?"

Payson sniffs, wiping her eyes with the cuffs of Sasha's hoodie. "Why would you ask me that?"

"Do you think he saved us or punished us?" Sasha stares up at the ceiling, hand resting on Payson's thigh.

Payson hovers her palm over Sasha's heart, scared to touch. "Since when are you a believer?"

Sasha smiles. "Must be the medication talking."

"Must be," Payson repeats softly, then props herself up on one elbow and starts gently scratching his scalp again.

"I wish I could say I knew how this was going to work, Pay," Sasha sighs after a while.

Payson shrugs one shoulder. "We'll figure it out." She's trying to sound nonchalant, as if she likes living without structure.

Sasha chuckles. He knows her better than that. "You don't have to pretend you're not worried just to protect me, you know. I promise, I'm not going anywhere."

Smiling, Payson drops onto her side again and tucks her face in the crook of Sasha's neck, pressing a light kiss to his throat. "You better not be."

The living room clock chimes another hour gone by.

"You should get some sleep. Don't want your parent's finding you here in the morning." Guilt is evident in Sasha's tired voice. Payson kisses his throat again but knows she will never be able to fully kiss away the guilt he feels for loving someone his peers think he shouldn't.

"Ok." She agrees but doesn't move.

"How was training today? You're not pushing it, are you?"

Payson smiles, finally allowing herself to find his concern cute. "I couldn't push myself even if I wanted to; I've got a gym full of chaperones asking me if I have a headache every five minutes."

"Good." Sasha presses a kiss to her temple.

"What are you going to do tomorrow?" Payson murmurs, smile fading.

"I'll be in," Sasha says firmly. He forgets to breathe carefully and his ribs rebel, sending a stabbing pain through his torso.

"You ok?" Payson says, sitting up quickly.

"I'm fine," Sasha says hoarsely, closing his eyes and calming his breathing. When he opens them again, Payson's looking down on him. The bruises on her face look even blacker in the distorted light and she's flushed with worry.

"You need to rest, Sasha. You can have another day off."

They both know he can't. The team leaves for Rio in four days; final event selection is the day after tomorrow. There's just no time for rest.

"I'll be fine," he says, though tiredness weighs his voice. "I won't do a full day. I'll take breaks." His eyes keep closing of their own accord and each blink lengthens in duration.

"You better," Payson murmurs, fingers tracing the stubble on his cheek up his jaw and round his skull. She has no idea how she's going to keep from rushing to him, holding him, kissing him, every time he jars his broken body just walking across the mats, but she's going to have to figure it out, and quick. "Now, go to sleep."

Sasha's breathing starts to level out even more, his eyes sink shut. "I love you," he breathes with his last conscious thought. "Just realised I never said it."

"I love you too," Payson presses the words to his ear and seals the vow with her lips.

She sits with him until dawn starts to creep into her bedroom.


	22. Chapter 22

**CHAPTER TWENTY TWO**

"See? Told you there's nothing Max Factor can't fix." Lauren stands back to survey her work, makeup brush in hand.

Hayley is stationed next to her, frowning. "How about some dark lipstick, balance the whole thing out?"

Kelly, leaning on the side of the stairs and flicking through her copy of the Worlds schedule folder Kim distributed this morning, spares a glance. "I still think someone's going to nickname her Payson the Panda."

Lauren taps her chin. "You're right. I've got more cover-up and lipstick in my locker. BRB."

"You know you could just say 'be right back', it's the _exact_ _same number of syllables_." Kelly half shouts after her.

"Wevs!"

Grimacing at her teammate's insistence on speaking 'internet', Kelly turns her attention back to Payson. "How you doing, Panda?"

They're standing beside the office stairs and Payson is contemplating whether it's possible to drown oneself in a water cooler.

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad." Kelly hides a snigger, still pretending to read the stack of printed pages. "If anyone can pull off the 'morning after a bar brawl' look, it's you."

"Kelly, just. Stop talking." Payson closes her eyes, wishing that was enough to transport her far, far away, or at least out of range of Kelly's attempts to be supportive.

"Righetti! This routine is not going to practice itself!"

Hayley's eyes widen. "Crap, Chris is using surnames. That can't be good."

Kelly deigns to look over her folder to where the hollering assistant coach is standing by the mat, hands on hips. "Such a shame how some people can't handle stress," she drawls.

"Do you think I should tell him his sneakers don't match?" Hayley polls her two teammates.

Payson and Kelly exchange looks. "No," they answer in unison.

"Kay." Hayley shoves her fist at Payson and grins. "Four days to go fist bump?" Hayley's countdown to Worlds fist bumps have become a tradition that evokes mixed reactions. Payson indulges her colleague, even throwing in a half-hearted 'explosion' when encouraged.

"Don't even think about it," Kelly warns, without looking.

"I'm going to get you doing it by Rio, just wait and see." Hayley sing-songs as she skips off to join the frazzled Chris.

Kelly smacks her lips. "Does it count as a fist bump if I aim it at her head?"

Before Payson can answer, MJ bustles over, reading her blackberry and checking the camera team aren't straying beyond their allocated area at the same time. "You all set?"

"I look like a panda," Payson slumps.

MJ just about covers her smile with a cough. "One, pandas are cute. Two, if any of the questions look like taking a turn toward comparing you to wildlife, I promise I'll step in."

Kelly chuckles and Payson glares.

MJ puts at hand on Payson's shoulder. "Seriously, you look fine. The interview is going to be short, a couple of questions about the accident, a couple about how you're feeling about Worlds. That's it. It's to tape not live, so if we don't like the direction they're steering you in, I can intervene, ok?"

Payson nods, tucking her loose hair behind her ears and taking a deep breath. has sent a crew to tape a segment for their website. Besides an 'I'm fine' message Becca drafted for Instagram, it's the first and only interview Payson is giving regarding the car crash.

"You know what the gymternet has been saying, I presume?" Kelly says. Her tone is nonchalant but her attention is fierce as she pins MJ with a look.

MJ catches the protective drive behind the question. "I do. Don't worry; if the interviewer starts asking why she was in the car with Sasha in the first place, I'm pulling the whole segment. They can bloody well report from our official statement like everyone else."

Payson lets her manager and teammate talk over her. All morning she's felt like her senses are on some kind of delay.

"Pay?"

Payson watches Drea topple off the beam. Instead of jumping straight back on, the young girl just leans her forehead on her hands.

"Payson?"

"Hmm?" Payson blinks and looks at Kelly. "Sorry, what?"

"Not me," Kelly points to the right.

"Me," Jules adds, raising her hand and trying to smile. "How you doing? Head ok?"

Payson nods at the assistant coach and gives the same answer she's been parroting since the accident. "I'm good."

"Awesome," Jules says. She has bags under her eyes that rival Payson's bruises in shade. "I know you already told me but" she taps her head, "brain's a bit fried today." Another attempt at a smile. "Sasha is...?"

"My dad's bringing him by anytime now," Payson fills in, after checking the wall clock.

"Awesome," Jules sighs, her usually immaculately smooth ponytail a mess of tangles. "Girls, word of advice," she glances between Kelly and Payson. "When you retire and someone says to you 'hey, here's a great idea, why don't you try coaching?' Run very fast in the other direction." Another sigh then her eyes grow wide and she's marching off across the gym. "Bethany Dean! Do not walk across the mat when Hayley's about to tumble! Come on people, work with me here!"

Just as Payson didn't see Jules join the group, now Lauren is suddenly in front of her face again dabbing her with more makeup.

"There we go," Lauren mutters, frowning in concentration as she pastes concealer beneath Payson's eye, seals it with powder, then grabs her chin and coats her lips with deep plum lipstick. "Much better. Now if you just..."

Payson never finds out what Lauren's final instruction as makeup consultant is because her teammate suddenly shrieks, "oh my god, she's here!" and bolts for the main door.

"Oh, joy," Payson says, dryly, whilst wondering if she's got time to go to the bathroom and check what Lauren's done to her face. "It's _Darbs_."

"Who in the hell is _Darbs_?" Kelly's face crumples in disgust as Lauren and the stranger perform some kind of choreographed hello dance, both erupting in squeals of joy.

"Darby Conrad, Olympic silver medallist, and Lauren's gymnastics camp big sister."

"And _Darbs_ is here why?"

"Mom says she's the new athlete's representative."

"So she's going to be helping choose who gets to compete in which events at Worlds?"

"With Sasha and Marcus, yeah," Payson sighs. Lauren's shrieks are still echoing across the gym. Darby's are nearly as high pitched.

"And she's besties with Lauren."

"You mean _Lo-Lo_ ," Payson corrects, using the ridiculous nickname Darby insists on utilising.

"Well, well," Kelly's lip curls in amused observation, "I guess Steve Tanner has more influence with the NGO than I gave him credit for."

Payson's tired mind has no time to decipher Kelly's meaning because the girl in question suddenly jumps, squealing. "Ewww, Payson! Why is your damn dog licking my foot?"

Tail wagging, Phoebe peers up at the two humans, overexcited at all the hubbub around her.

"Pheebs, you're supposed to be in the office," Payson sighs, bending down to pick up her dog. "Made a break for it, huh?" She ruffles Phoebe's fur and the dog gives a happy bark. Payson smiles sadly; she wishes she could disappear to the park with Phoebe for an hour. "Can you take her back upstairs?" she asks Kelly.

"What am I? The Dog Whisperer?" Kelly snaps, balancing on one foot as she wipes dog drool from the other with Lauren's warm-up jacket. "Beth!" She hollers without bothering to look up.

"Yup?"

Payson jumps. This whole 'people appearing out of nowhere' thing is really making her paranoid.

"Take the mutt up to the office and make sure she stays there this time," Kelly orders.

"Don't call her a mutt," Payson chastises as she hands Phoebe to Beth.

"Can I give her a treat?" Beth asks, tucking Phoebe expertly under one arm. "I got her a new pack of doggie chocolates; they're shaped like cats."

"Of course," Payson nods, returning Beth's smile, "thanks."

Beth rendition of 'Who Let The Dogs Out' as she carries Phoebe up the stairs is momentarily interrupted.

"Sorry kid, you go past," Marty apologises.

Payson turns round so she can see Marty descend from the office, though she makes sure she's still shielded by the water cooler since he's not alone.

"Since when did you become Belov's agent, anyway?" Marcus Collins mutters. The creases down the front of his pants are less than crisp which, for him, is the equivalent of wearing odd shoes.

Marty sighs. "Look, I messed these girls about enough. They need the stability of keeping the same coach for more than five minutes."

The pair pause at the bottom of the stairs. Payson notes that Kelly is eavesdropping too.

"I agree with you," Marcus Collins says, and Payson suspects it's not a phrase he uses very often. "But if he's not physically up to the job, I have to replace him."

"But with Ellen Beals?" The two men's voices fade into the general babble as they walk away.

"Do you want to sing _The Bitch is Back_ or should I?" Kelly offers, propping an elbow on the water drum.

"She's not back," Payson scowls. "Sasha'll be here any minute."

Kelly makes no comment, only raises her eyebrows.

"Just stop talking," Payson snaps at her. She turns to go get this interview the hell over with and runs smack into Drea.

"Sorry, Dr...Hey, what's wrong?" Payson frowns. The younger girl looks close to tears.

"Can I talk to you?" Drea's question is tiny and Payson finds she has a hand on her shoulder, fearful the young gymnast is about to collapse.

"Of course, what is it?"

Drea glances around, blinking rapidly. "Can we go outside?" she almost whispers.

"Sure," Payson starts. "Just let me..."

"Coach!" Beth's joyous voice rings out from the balcony, capturing the attention of every person in the gym. She hurtles down the stairs, all eyes following.

"Slow down, freight train!" Chris just manages to catch her round the waist as she launches off the bottom step. "He doesn't want anymore cracked ribs."

"Sorry, Coach!" Beth hangs in Chris's arms like a sack of flour, still grinning.

"It's nice to have such a warm welcome," Sasha assures, walking slowly but steadily from the main door. His cast is covered by his jacket sleeve and, apart from the white dressing neatly taped to his face, he looks in perfect health.

A hum goes up as everyone realises the source of Beth's excitement.

"We'll talk later?" Payson starts, focus still mainly on Sasha. But Drea is gone. Payson glances about, knowing she should find her teammate, but the pull to get to Sasha is too much. She snuck into her room this morning and kissed him goodbye but it still feels like she hasn't seen him in days. She's pushing her way through the crowd of people when someone catches her forearm and pulls hard enough to stop her momentum.

"Drea, I just have to..." But it's not Drea's hand.

"Might be the time to learn a little subtlety, Keeler," Kelly says, quietly.

Payson's breath stills at the knowing look in Kelly's eyes.

* * *

It takes a hell of a lot of self-control but Sasha doesn't swear as he eases himself down slowly and carefully into his desk chair.

"You ok there, Coach Belov?"

Although his attempts at hiding a grimace weren't as successful as he hoped if the concern on Darby Conrad's face is anything to go by.

"Let's get started, shall we?" he deflects the question.

"Good idea." Marcus practically jumps from the sofa and either Sasha's paranoid or the NGO official is proving a point. "As you can see, I've had Kim set up some white boards for us. Much appreciated, Kim." He points his usual false smile at Kim as she pours coffees from the machine and hands them out.

"Oh, it was no trouble at all." Kim's smile is as sharp as a butcher's knife. Out of sight from Marcus and Darby as she leans across the desk to pass Sasha his cup, she lets the expression drop and mouths 'jackass'. Sasha smirks.

"Can I get you anything else?" Kim asks sweetly as she stands.

"No, that's ok, you can go." Marcus dismisses her like a maid without looking away from the white boards he's already scribbling over.

As Kim walks down the stairs, she pauses when her face is level with Sasha's part of the window and mouths 'jackass' again, jerking her head at Marcus' back, before disappearing.

"So, Coach Belov, while you've been recuperating, Darby and I have been discussing the delicate matter of event selection." A red arrow here, a blue star there, Marcus is making good use of Summer's comprehensive set of wipeable sharpies.

"I didn't realise Darby had the chance to see the girls train yet," Sasha says neutrally, swallowing his annoyance that Marcus is talking like he's been to a health spa instead of a hospital.

"Oh, I haven't. Well, not in person," Darby says. She's sitting on the edge of the black couch, clipboard and pen in hand, enthusiastic to get involved. "But I've reviewed their trials footage and Marcus has given me a detailed breakdown of all their routines. I'm very impressed. Especially Aundrea Conway's floor routine." She touches her chest, apparently overwhelmed with anticipation. "I can't wait to see it in person."

Sasha smacks his lips and looks at his desk. That answers his question as to whether Marcus has already begun his campaign of indoctrinating the NGO's opinion on the new athlete's representative.

"Yes, Drea's routine is very impressive, but Jules and I have actually been discussing removing or at least modifying the double twist double back combination. Drea's really been struggling to stick both that and the double twisting double front in the same routine. Come the Olympics I think she'll have the necessary stamina but I believe that erring on the side of caution might be advisable in Rio." May as well get his view out there early and let the fighting commence.

"Coach Conway assures me Aundrea's coming along nicely." Marcus pauses his scribbling. "Perhaps we should wait until we've all seen what her current state is before we make any decisions. She may have made some breakthroughs in the last few days you're unaware of."

Another dig at his absence. Sasha's going to be swearing long and loud as soon as he gets a moment alone today. "Perhaps," he echoes, with a viper smile.

"Now, for the all-around..." Marcus begins.

"Actually, I just wanted to say something before we really get started if that's ok?" Darby glances between the two men. Sasha shrugs, Marcus pulls out another fake smile. "Awesome." Darby stands up as if to make a speech. "Can I just say how thrilled I am at this opportunity and that you can rely on me to do whatever I can to help the girls fulfil their goddess potential. And, in that spirit, I was hoping to lead the whole team in an empowerment circle this afternoon." She beams.

"A what?" Sasha wonders if his ear drums ruptured in the crash and nobody told him.

"An empowerment circle? You've never heard of it? Oh, Coach Belov, it's a wonderful training tool. It really helps the girls find the strength within their souls. It's so invigorating and, considering what this team has been though, I think it would be super helpful for getting them ready for Rio."

"Morale is important," Marcus nods. "So, sure, after training later - we'll see."

"Wonderful!" Darby gives a fluttery hand clap.

"Now, as I was saying," Marcus continues, his annoyance at being interrupted made clear by how hard he smacks the whiteboard with the pointer he's commandeered, "I believe that we should focus our all around efforts on Kelly, Payson, and Aundrea. Thoughts?"

If his head didn't have stitches holding it together, Sasha would bang it against the desk. "I think," he says, working very, very hard to keep his voice congenial, "we need to remember that Drea was only recently promoted to the full team. The reasoning behind my original decision to take her to Rio as an alternate was to make her first major championship as pressure free as possible. Once she had that experience, it would boost her confidence going into 2012. Obviously, this strategy was impossible to keep to when we lost Kaylie, I get that. But I strongly recommend that we don't push her too hard and certainly don't try and qualify her for the all-around."

"May I ask what event you would consider putting Ms Righetti in ahead of Ms Conway?" The disrespect when Marcus says Hayley's name has Sasha gritting his already aching teeth tighter.

"Beam," Sasha says immediately. "I expect Lauren, Kelly, and Payson to go top three but Hayley will be close behind them. She's experienced in major competition pressure so if we put her up first, she can be relied on to hit and give the rest of the team momentum."

Marcus is leafing through his papers, apparently unprepared for Sasha to take control of this meeting's direction. Sasha gives the NGO man no moment to catch up; as coach, he needs no written prompts.

"Yes, beam is _both_ Beth and Drea's weakest apparatus but I have much more faith in Beth to hit her routine. As Coach Conway has repeatedly told me, Drea is naturally very nervous. I would be much more confident in Beth providing a safety net for that fourth score should it be needed in the team qualification. I'm also wary about forcing Drea to compete two vaults. Her…"

"Her mother told me she has two vaults ready to go," Marcus interjects, snapping his file shut and glaring at Sasha. "Are you saying she's lying?"

" _Ready to go_ is a very broad description," Sasha shoots back, pushing to his feet despite the pain. "Her DTY is competition standard; her front handspring, layout full, is not."

"Well, we will be able to judge for ourselves tomorrow, won't we?" Marcus says, through a sharkish smile.

"I suppose we will," Sasha concedes, glowering at Marcus' back as the man turns to scribble again on the whiteboard. He lowers his body back onto the chair, drags open his desk drawer and pulls out one of the cans of redbull that he'd asked Kim to put in there. He's chugged three quarters of it - to wash down a couple of pain pills - before he remembers that he and Marcus aren't the only people present.

Darby, brushing off the awkwardness lingering through the room, claps her hands and brightly suggests that they talk about Lauren.

Sasha wonders how much damage he'd do by swallowing his next round of antibiotics with a bottle of Jack Daniels.


	23. Chapter 23

**CHAPTER TWENTY THREE**

"You guys coming?" Hayley pauses as she walks over from her locker.

Kelly offers a sickly smile. "We're empowered enough, thanks."

"Coolio." Hayley shrugs and takes the hint.

Kelly and Payson are sitting next to each other, backs to the wall, knees crooked. The clock has just ticked past six pm and Darby has managed to convince four of the national team to join her for an empowerment circle over on the main mat. Payson gives her a certain amount of credit for not even trying to persuade herself and Kelly to sit long-frog for twenty minutes and chant haikus.

"So," Payson watches the rest of the team form a circle and sit. This is the first time she and Kelly have been away from prying ears.

"You know, I'm surprised you're this calm," Kelly interrupts. "Training time taken up by new age mumbo jumbo. Isn't this the type of thing you usually throw a tantrum over? Not to mention Steve Tanner's blatant attempts to buy Lauren a place in as many events as possible by getting Darby as athlete's rep."

Payson picks at a thumbnail. If Kelly wants to direct the conversation, fine. "Don't really have the energy to throw a tantrum right now."

"Shame," Kelly sighs, "I always enjoy watching those."

Darby has the girls putting their hands in prayer position and closing their eyes.

"Steve Tanner hasn't got enough influence to get the athlete's rep appointed," Payson says, moving onto the fraying cuticles on her index finger as she explains her lack of animosity. "His link to the NGO was Ellen Beals. Besides," Payson looks up as laughter carries across the gym, "I haven't seen Lauren this happy since Summer left."

"Oh god," Kelly winces, "please don't go getting all sentimental, you know I'm allergic."

"Fine. I'm not angry at the situation because even if Steve does suck up to Darby, it's not going to be enough to get Lauren spots on anything other than beam, bars and probably floor, which she was getting anyway. Mean rationalism better for you?"

"Much," Kelly nods.

Lauren's talking now, animatedly describing something that involves her hair if the amount of times she adjusts her braids is anything to go by.

"So are we going to talk about it?" Payson asks, neutral as possible considering the subject matter.

"About what?" Kelly, inspired by Lauren, starts playing with her own bunches.

Payson glares, suddenly serious. "You know _what_. What you said earlier."

"About you looking like a panda?"

"I am not doing this," Payson stands up. She's tired, she's stressed; she's not about to play mouse to Kelly's bored cat.

"Just so you know, storming off in a temper is not subtle," Kelly says, leaning her head back against the wall and looking up at Payson.

Warily, Payson sits back down and waits.

Kelly calmly glances around, making sure no one's loitering nearby. When she's content they're unobserved she says, "I figured you weren't sneaking into his room at two am last night because you'd forgotten your blanky."

"How did you see…?"

"Needed a glass of water. Imagine my surprise to find I wasn't the only one in the house _thirsty_ ," she scoots a glance at Payson. "So is it love or just sex?"

"We haven't slept together."

"Love, then. Not that that's a shock."

Payson swallows but makes no other outward sign of panic. "What are you going to do?" There is no point in denying it. Kelly's made a career of identifying peoples' lies.

"If this had been last year?" Kelly shrugs, "currently, I would be having a very interesting conversation with Marcus, throwing in some tears as I explain how you and Coach Belov have been blackmailing me to keep quiet about your tawdry affair, and that you remaining on the team in anything other than a support role would wreck my focus and ability to successfully defend my title." Kelly finishes adjusting her hair then moves on to study her nails.

"And this year?" Payson murmurs. Her insides are on fire.

Kelly frowns at a ridge on her thumb. "This year," she pauses.

"This year?" Payson prompts, even quieter.

"This year it's none of my business." There is such a change in Kelly's tone that Payson looks up, half-expecting to see a different person propped against the wall beside her.

"What?"

Kelly's face is bare, like she's stripped off all her makeup. "I feel old, Payson."

Payson frowns. "Old?"

"I'm twenty the week we get back from Rio. London is my last olympics; that's if I get there at all."

Are those tears in Kelly's eyes? Payson waits as Kelly blinks.

"And I was thinking, at the hospital the other night: if it had been me in the accident, would anyone have been sitting by _my_ bedside?"

"We would have come, the team," Payson says, quietly.

Kelly smiles sadly at her hands. They are shaking. "And when there's no team that wants me anymore? Who would come then?"

Payson has no answer. She knows nothing of Kelly's family apart from she divorced her mother.

"Exactly," Kelly says at Payson's silence. She glances over to the empowerment circle. "I don't know when it happened," she murmurs.

"When what happened?" Payson shifts closer.

"When I became the past and they became the future." She nods at Drea and Beth. "Shouldn't there have been some neon sign, some handover ceremony? I mean, how can things be one way one minute and something completely different the next?" She looks at Payson for the first time.

"I don't think we ever get a neon sign," Payson says, softly.

"Just a speeding car and a drunk driver?" There's no animosity in Kelly's voice and Payson sighs a smile.

"Sometimes."

Payson has always thought Kaylie and Lauren have been the most influential peers in her gymnastics career; now she wonders if perhaps she was mistaken, that perhaps competitors rather than allies are the ones who really understand you. She reaches a hand to Kelly and Kelly doesn't pull her arm away.

"You don't know that you're done after 2012. That British girl, Beth Tweddle? She won World gold on bars when she was 25."

Kelly shakes her head. "My ankle's going; I can feel it. There's only so much damage that support tape and cortisone can fix."

"Surgery?"

"You know that's always a crapshoot."

"How about coaching?" Payson's reaching now.

"Right, because I'm so known for my people skills."

The girls share a slight smile that soon evaporates.

"If I had what you and Sasha have?" Kelly murmurs, looking at Payson. "I sure as hell wouldn't be as terrified about the future as I am." Tears start to spill over her long lashes. "I won't tell anyone, Payson, you have my word."

Almost in shock, Payson slips her arms round Kelly, pulling her away from the wall and into an awkward hug. Kelly cries quietly into her shoulder. Payson wonders when the last time Kelly let her guard down like this was, if ever.

"If that's pity on your face I'll slap it off." Kelly sniffs as she sits up a few minutes later, wiping her eyes on her sleeves.

"No pity," Payson assures, holding her hands up in surrender. "I promise." She waits a beat. "But, you know, the offer of our spare room? It doesn't just stop at Worlds."

Kelly nods without looking at her. Payson thinks about extending the invitation further, but decides to not to push it.

"Thanks, Keeler," Kelly murmurs, still wiping away the evidence of her emotions.

"No problem, Parker."

* * *

"Get a good night's sleep tonight because tomorrow is decision day," Sasha announces, gripping hard to the balcony rail, his casted hand scraping against the metal each time he flinches in pain. "I'll see you all in the morning." _Because I sure as hell can't see you right now_ , he thinks, fatigue and pain having turned his vision to a fuzzy blur.

Dismissed, the girls and their entourages move away, nervously discussing routines, collecting belongings, but - most importantly to Sasha - not paying him any attention at all. He stumbles as he tries to stand away from the balcony rail. In the past hour, his ribs have tightened as if in a pressure vice that's being screwed shut.

"Didn't you tell Payson you were going to take breaks? Lie down in the trailer for an half hour at least?" Kim's motherly annoyance sounds from his right side. "By my watch, you've been here five hours and have not had so much as a cup of that damn tea you threw a fit about when I bought the wrong brand."

Sasha defends himself with a small groan.

"Oh for god's...I'm getting Payson to take you home." She bustles off and Sasha attempts not to collapse into the foetal position.

"A good day's work, Coach Belov." Marcus, irritatingly chipper, shouts up to Sasha from below, having pulled a drink from the water cooler.

"Sure was," Sasha manages to say, hoping the way he's propped on the metal bar looks jaunty rather than half-dead.

"Look forward to arguing with you some more tomorrow." Marcus smiles over the rim of his cup.

Sasha pulls off a semi-grimace that, from Marcus's position, will hopefully be mistaken for a smile. Marcus walks away and Sasha resumes his current mission of attempting not to fall down. A pair of folded arms swim into view beside him, fingers drumming impatiently on the pale skin. "I know," he breathes, this time not bothering to hide his pain, "I'm an idiot."

"Damn right," Payson agrees. "Come on, mom's gotta stay an extra hour so I'll drive you home." She doesn't touch him so Sasha knows they're being watched.

"And do as you're told for once in your life," Kim says, from behind his back.

Sasha pushes away from the bar and just about keeps his balance. He looks down the seemingly endless flight of stairs before him. "This could take a while," he sighs.

* * *

The hallway is quiet, cool with the absence of people.

"Don't be such a baby! You are not going to catch dog cooties from Phoebe's leash!" Payson's voice echoes from outside.

"You don't know that!" Kelly snaps. She keys open the Keeler's front door and stomps over the threshold, gingerly holding the leash between thumb and forefinger, her arm outstretched as far as it can go. Phoebe trots across the hall, oblivious to being a source of friction.

"Yes, I do," Payson shoots back. She has an arm around Sasha's waist as she helps him through the door.

"Can you two argue about cooties later?" Sasha implores. He's so fatigued that he needs Payson's support to walk but his ribs are certainly not happy with her tight proximity.

Kelly curls her mouth in disgust as Phoebe sniffs her ankle. "Payson, she's doing it again."

"Oh for god's..." Payson props Sasha against her bedroom door frame. "Here." She snaps the leash off Phoebe's collar. "At least bring her into the back yard for me. And make sure the gate's shut!" she yells as, with a world weary grunt, Kelly follows Phoebe into the living room.

"Come here you." Alone, Payson can soften her voice, slip her arms round Sasha more intimately, finally care for him like she's been wanting to all day.

Together they stagger into the bedroom and Payson helps him sit down on the edge of the mattress.

"So this was taking it easy, was it?" Payson runs a gentle hand over Sasha's skull. He's so exhausted he can barely support his own head.

"Don't. My ego has already taken a battering this week," he murmurs with a dry laugh, leaning into Payson's touch.

"Then it matches the rest of you." Payson places a smiling kiss on his forehead then leaves him sitting alone for a minute while she fetches the equipment she needs.

Free from having to put up any kind of front, Sasha's sigh turns into a groan. He feels like he's gone ten rounds in a boxing ring five minutes after completing a triathlon. His chest is burning and his stitches are itching like crazy. If he wasn't certain that Payson would tape oven mitts to his hands, he'd rip the bandage off and scratch the damn things until they bled.

"Alright," Payson bustles back in, slamming the door. "Nap time." She shoves three pills and a glass of water in his direction. He gulps them down.

"Ego, remember?" He tries again to demonstrate he doesn't need to be looked after like a child. When he misses the dresser and drops the half-empty glass on the floor instead, he feels his point might not quite have been made.

"Car crash, remember?" Payson ignores the patch of water seeping across her carpet and just scoops up the glass. "And how many times have you looked after me?" She crouches down in front of him, looking him in his tired eyes. She has to kiss him again.

"That's different," Sasha grumps, though his little smile belies his complaint.

"Sure it is," Payson indulges, making a mental note to yell at him for being sexist when he's more awake. "Now, let's get this off." She starts peeling the bandage from his face.

Sasha tries to pull away. "You shouldn't have to see this," he murmurs, sobering. His eyes clear a little; he's dragging up his last bit of energy to try and protect her.

"Don't be dumb," Payson murmurs, fingers gentle but persistent as she eases the dressing away from his skin. She hasn't seen the cuts close up before but she's a gymnast, skin lacerations are nothing new for her, so she doesn't flinch. Instead, she strokes the good side of his face and kisses him.

There are three deep gashes running like bloody baseball seams through Sasha's face. One stretches along his forehead; one slices down beside his eye to mid cheek; the last slashes from ear to chin. The passenger side window hadn't smashed as much as it had exploded.

"They're definitely healing," Payson says softly as she studies the stitches. "But we'll leave the dressing off for a while, let them get some air." She picks up the saline solution and gauze she'd fetched from the bathroom, wets the cotton, and gently dabs clean the places where the sutures have oozed during the day.

"Do I dare ask how it went with Marcus and Darby or is that going to make you frown so hard you rip all your stitches?" Payson asks with a quiet smile as she tidies up his skin.

Sasha sighs. His eyes are closed. He seems to have forgotten how to open them. "I'm not looking forward to tomorrow, let's put it like that," is all he says. Payson doesn't push him; at some point they'll have to talk about how much Sasha is willing to discuss his job with Payson, considering their professional status of coach and gymnast, but tonight is not that point.

"We'll get through it," she tells him, standing up and adjusting the pillows on her bed so he can sleep propped up. Head drooped, eyes closed, Sasha kicks off his sneakers. He's so far gone into exhaustion he allows Payson to help him off with his jacket and t-shirt without mentioning his battered ego.

Knowing she's unobserved, Payson allows pain to cloud her face. This is the first time she's seen the uncensored extent of his injuries. A white fibre cast loops between his thumb and forefinger and stretches to just below his elbow; his ribcage is stained dark with torn capillaries and spackled masses of bruised skin reflecting the damage underneath; the open train tracks criss-crossing half his face are dotted with thread ends of stitches and clumps of scabbing blood.

"Dad's going to cook when he gets back from the market with Becca; I'll bring you a plate." Payson continues, sniffing quietly, picking up Sasha's legs and easing them onto the mattress.

"Thank you," he breathes, settling on to the bed and disappearing into sleep, succumbing to his body's natural instinct to heal. When Payson carefully moulds the two ice packs she fetched earlier round his ribcage, he doesn't even flinch.

For a while, Payson sits on the edge of her bed, holding Sasha's hand. Of all the things different about him, it's the hair she's finding strangest. The short blades of blonde sticking up like spikes are the same length as the stubble over his jaw and cheeks. As she reaches up to stroke them, her fingers hover above the cut closest to his eye. A couple of millimetres and... Payson shakes her head; if she considers what might have been she'll never be able to leave his side.

As Payson eases the door shut behind her, having left the window slightly open, Becca's get well soon balloon dances calmly in the thin breeze.

"Did he buy it?" Kelly is leaning against the living room door, arms folded. Phoebe is sitting beside her, looking up at Payson as if she too wants to know if the ruse was successful.

Payson holds the door handle for a moment longer than necessary, wishing she could hear Sasha breathing. "That you hate Phoebe? Surprisingly, yes he did." She turns round. Kelly rolls her eyes.

"So how long do I have to pretend I don't know about you guys? I mean, I have no problem using my loathing of that mutt as distraction, but..." Kelly's playing it up now.

"Don't call her mutt," Payson corrects. "And I will tell him, when he's awake enough to understand actual words." She sighs, runs a hand over her face and looks at the door again. She's about to check on him when Kelly grabs the back of her jacket and pulls.

"Stop fussing. It's not like he's going anywhere."

"Dammit," Payson suddenly exclaims.

"What? I didn't pull that hard."

"No," Payson sighs, turning round and leaning her back on the bedroom door. "Drea wanted to talk to me earlier. I totally forgot."

The front door slams open and bangs against the wall.

"Sorry," Becca cries, arms full of brown paper shopping bags. She staggers down the hallway and shoves the bags at the nearest person; Kelly doesn't look entirely impressed at being utilised as a sideboard.

Arms free, Becca throws them round Payson. Since the accident, she has been more tactile than usual. "Good practice?" she asks, as Payson tucks her little sister under her arm and pets her hair.

"Sasha nearly passed out because he's a stubborn idiot, and I gave an interview looking like a panda, but other than that, yeah, all good."

Payson guides her sister into the living room, both Keelers chuckling as Kelly, struggling not to drop a bag, resorts to an undignified lurch to get over to the dining table and deposit her load.

"There are more bags in the car if you ladies would oblige," Mark announces as he walks through the living room. "I have a feast to prepare." He kisses his eldest daughter on the way past. "Good practice?"

"Check out ," Payson groans.

"She's does a fabulous panda impression." Kelly pops up at her shoulder, aiming a smug grin at Payson and a flick at Becca's arm.

Becca, grinning, flicks Kelly's shoulder in return then bolts from the room as Kelly shrieks "Hey!" and chases after her.

"So the evil Kelly Parker may not be so evil after all?" Mark says, as he unpacks the first bag.

Payson looks back at the open front door with a half-smile. "I guess not."


	24. Chapter 24

**CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR**

Payson puts one final pin in her hair and gives the perfect bun another coating of hairspray. She looks herself in the eyes for thirty seconds. Her bruises are fading from purple to yellow; the thin cut on her hairline appears cleanly scabbed over as she peels off the protective band aid she used as barrier to the aerosol.

"Focused?" Sasha finishes tying his shoelaces and sits up slowly, elbows leaning on his knees. He's sitting on the end of the bed just behind Payson.

"Yes," Payson says, pushing more positivity than she feels into her voice. "Yes."

"Just stay in the moment, that's all you need to remember. Nothing else exists. You've trained your body well, it knows what to do." Sasha's words are smooth, his typical game day tone.

"Stay in the moment," Payson repeats, closing her eyes.

A hand brushes her shoulder. She leans gently back without opening her eyes. Sasha slips his good arm round her waist and kisses the back of her neck.

"This is what you've been waiting for," Sasha says, propping his chin on her shoulder, newly shorn hair rubbing her cheek, watching Payson's reflection. She smiles and opens her eyes.

Payson knows he's talking about event selection, but, with his arms around her, his eyes alive to her, the words carry so much more meaning.

* * *

The Rock logo on the front door has been polished. Sunlight glints through the glass and spatters the bottom step of the stairs. The gym door is propped open with a ten kilo workout weight. _Stay in the moment_ , Payson says in her mind; _only observation, no analysis or judgment._

Kim and Kelly chat as they follow Payson into the gym; Sasha is cornered by Marty as he heads for the office; Lauren rushes over, face glowing with excitement, though the glow fades to an eyeroll when she's close enough to see Payson's expression.

"I see RoboPayson is back in the building." She moves past Payson to snipe at Kelly without even trying to engage Payson in conversation. Payson keeps her smile inside; Lauren always calls her RoboPayson when she's in the zone.

Her warm-up proceeds as usual. She nods in response to her teammates' hellos as they drift into the building. She accepts her mother's good luck hug with a small smile. Marcus calls them to attention on the main mat. Payson obliges but hears nothing of his pep talk, keeping her attention on a spot in midair instead. She doesn't look at Sasha at all; she finds it impossible to observe him without giving into a thousand accompanying emotions.

"You got this, girls!" Marty hollers from the balcony where he is standing with Kim. _Bet that's a fun duo_ , Payson starts to think, then shakes her head and empties the thought. _Stay in the moment._

"Full rotation in alphabetical order starting with vault," Sasha's voice announces. Kelly slaps her on the shoulder. Drea takes up position at the end of the runway. She looks tired, scared even. Payson still hasn't had a chance to talk to her, maybe... _No!_ Payson looks away, closes her eyes. _Stay in the damn moment. Observe don't analyse._

Drea nails her double twisting Yurchenko, only taking an extra step on landing before the required salute. Payson joins in the applause and gives Drea a smile of encouragement as the smaller girl walks by to take her second vault. A front handspring, layout full, but her legs slip mid-turn and she has to take a big lunge to keep the landing steady. Her posture is slumped as she walks from the landing mat. Sasha meets her on the sideline and talks to her quietly, a steadying hand on her shoulder. Coach Conway's shouts of assessment are audible from the viewing area.

Beth's up next. Like Drea, as a potential contender for the individual vault competition, Beth's been training two different vaults: an Amanar and a Produnova. Unlike Drea, she sticks both landings. Pleased, she jogs over to the side and gets a fist-bump from Hayley and a nod of approval from Kelly.

As well as her DTY, Payson's been training to upgrade her roundoff, half on, layout full to a layout 1.5. Before the injury, she had the power to nail whatever vault was thrown at her; success is no longer so simple.

She checks the distance of the springboard, gives the vault table a slap for luck, then spins sharply and marches to the end of the runway. _Stay in the moment_ is her last worded thought; from now on habit, instinct, and luck are all she'll know.

She zooms her vision as she salutes, narrows her world down to the eighty-two feet of mat, the three foot of springboard, the four foot of table. Step one to step two, momentum building as she runs, hurling her legs one in front of the other until she can feel the danger of maximum velocity pounding through her knees. Mid-stride, both feet free from the ground, she rolls her momentum forward, throws out her hands to collide with the mat and imagines pushing her palms through the centre of the earth. The reactive power twists her body one-eighty, her feet smashing hard into the centre of the springboard releasing the contained force of its coiled tension. She is launched into the air backwards, sailing without reference, body held taut and twisting until the vault table appears beneath her. The impact of the table she swallows like water, a wave moving through her palms and spraying out her feet; hit it like a solid object and it will shatter your wrists. Every millisecond after final contact with the equipment is accounted for, her body cutting like a rotating blade, sharp and fierce, the landing mat swirling beneath her spinning head. She puts magnets in her feet, lets them drop like stones through a sheet of silk. The mat cedes to her weight, cradles her feet as her muscle mass returns to its vertical position without need for a compensating step. One breath to be sure and Payson throws her arms up, her spine arching as her heart pounds.

"Very good, Miss Keeler," Marcus announces. "Do you want to try it with a 1.5?"

Payson is already halfway back to the end of the runway, her body and courage resetting to do it all again.

* * *

"Do you get my point now?" Sasha hisses at Marcus, turning his back so neither the girls nor the entourages confined to the viewing area - and firmly told to stay off the floor during selection - can read his lips.

Marcus at least has the good grace to look rattled. "What was your suggestion, again?" he says, like it betrays every fibre of his being to implicitly admit he was wrong.

Sasha watches Jules sling an arm round Drea and rub her shoulders. The heaving of the young girl's back as they walk away shows that tears are either threatening or already running.

"We sit her down from beam, keep her on just one vault - she's not going to make the individual final anyway so no point in adding pressure, and we keep the double twisting double back but change the full twisting double back section on floor."

"If she changes to a simple double back, she should be able to land it. It'll lower the d-score but what she makes up on execution should cover the difference," Darby says, hand on her heart and eyes shining in empathy for the gymnast. "All the other moves were sound; it was just too much momentum that had her..." Darby stops.

 _Landing flat on her face_ , Sasha's mind fills in. "Good idea," Sasha says aloud. Darby's perky persona often conceals the fact she's a two time Olympian; Sasha makes a note not to underestimate her coaching abilities even if he does want to shove a sock in her mouth when she starts in about empowerment circles.

"Maybe, but..." Marcus turns a harsh eye to Sasha, "I'm not writing her off beam yet."

"And why would you," Sasha's says with bitter sarcasm, "since she only fell off once and threw her standing arabian with a look that can only be described as pure terror."

Marcus doesn't rise to the comment but the note he makes on his clipboard is hard enough to nearly break the pen.

"Let's go, Beth." Sasha swallows his annoyance and tries to smile as Beth puts down the index cards he helped her write and jogs to the corner of the mat to begin her routine.

Drea's fall on beam and poor floor performance has put a dampener over what has otherwise been a good morning's work from the team.

Beth salutes and waits for her music to begin. Her club coach had deliberated over what song to give her; whether to make it dreamy and match Beth's flyaway personality, or cater to her powerhouse tumbling abilities and go with an up tempo number. Music explodes through the gym, a thumping drum beat that carries Beth into a layout with three and a half twists. She takes the large step to the corner, readies again, waits for her musical cue, then launches into a round off, one and a half twist, round off, flic-flac, powering into a double arabian, sticking her landing and immediately moving into a punch front.

"Wow," Darby enthuses, scribbling notes on her clipboard.

"Don't look smug, Belov," Marcus says, watching Beth perform a whip, whip, two and a half twist, but he doesn't sound bitter at Sasha being proven right over the lack of effect outside influences have on Beth's gymnastics; there is a tug at the corner of his mouth that Sasha recognises.

"Not shifting allegiances, are you?" Sasha says. "Don't think Louise Conway will be too impressed."

Marcus ignores him and the three judges watch the rest of the routine in silence, joining in the loud applause when Beth nails her double pike dismount. Beth throws a celebratory row of cartwheels to carry her back to the rest of the team.

Darby isn't watching the celebration. "It's incredible," she murmurs. "Nine months ago she was in a back brace, and now..." She touches her mouth, apparently out of words, as Payson walks with perfect grace to the centre of the mat and bows to take her starting position.

Sasha glances at his clipboard, ostensibly checking Payson's d-score, but actually giving himself a moment. There is so much meaning behind this floor routine; so much that is personal to the two of them; he finds it difficult to watch it with a neutral eye. The opening chords of Tchaikovsky reverberate through the speakers, the hidden orchestra beginning its crescendo as Payson rises from the floor, her arms unfolding with beautiful poise.

"I understand you've made some additions since trials. Coach Belov?"

Marcus has to say the head coach's name to get his attention. Intention of neutrality or not, Sasha cannot take his eyes off Payson. He can smell the rain storm exploding around them; see the shining light of her ghostly dance. He blinks.

"Yes," he murmurs, as Payson takes up position at the corner for her double layout tumbling pass. Her face is serene in its concentration. This is where she was born to be.

A large breath and the floor comes to meet her hands as Payson powers into the twists and tumbles that nine months ago, as Darby said, would have been as impossible as flying. A slight step on the final landing but Payson covers it by immediately shifting into her switch ring leap.

"Her dance training has completely reinvented her style," Darby gushes, smiling in excitement at the fluid edge Payson lends to her attitude and Memmel turns.

Dance classes with Mistress Viola. Sasha smiles at the memory; Payson still teases him about those damn tights.

"She's worked very hard," Sasha says aloud. He's bursting with pride but stops himself from praising further; he's not too lulled by medication to fall into the trap of admitting too much.

"Awesome, Payson!" Darby leads the applause as Payson folds back into her starting position and the music ends.

"Very impressive," Marcus admits, even deigning to clap.

Floor is the last rotation and as she walks from the mat, making room for Kelly, Payson finally allows herself to meet Sasha's gaze. How he refrains from scooping her up in his arms and telling her how incredibly proud of her he is, Sasha will never know.

* * *

"How do you think it's going?" Hayley asks, absentmindedly playing with Beth's hair.

"Well. No one's been thrown through the window yet," Kelly comments, leaning back on her hands and crossing her ankles.

"Is that a good thing?" Beth asks. She's lying down, head resting in Hayley's lap.

"No idea."

The team is sitting on the main mat, all except for Drea who was whisked off to the annex for tumbling practice by her mother the moment Lauren finished her floor routine and ended the assessment. The volume of her 'conversation' with Sasha concerning the changes to be made to Drea's floor routine meant no other team member felt the urge to join in the impromptu training session.

"I can't wait to get my eam medals," Lauren sighs, tapping her fingers on the mat. "I'm so lucky my skin tone goes with gold."

"Eam medals?" Payson repeats. She's lying on her back, knees to her chest, stretching her lower back.

"Beam and team?" Lauren says, as if it's the most obvious connection in the world.

"Lauren? You know all that money your dad has?" Kelly asks. "He didn't, by any chance, earn it all by renting you out for medical experiments as a child, did he? OW!"

Lauren brushes her hands together, satisfied that her slap to Kelly's leg is answer enough.

Payson looks at the ceiling and blows the air out of her lungs. Sasha, Darby, and Marcus have been in lockdown in the office for an hour. Payson hates waiting.

"So Darbs and I have been working on some new ribbon braid styles," Lauren announces, "they'll look amazing next to the our qualification leos."

Payson winces, thinking of prep time. "And how long are these amazing ribbon braids going to take to do?"

"Not long," Lauren says, airly, "like an hour or so? I'm not sure."

Hayley sighs with contentment. "Extra hour in bed for me." She preens her tightly sculpted black curls, green eyes dancing.

"I could never shave my head," Beth says, from Hayley's lap, "my skull is lumpy."

"Ooh, where?" Hayley starts prodding where Beth taps and gives a little shriek when she feels the bony protuberance. "That is so weird!"

"Well, Keeler," Kelly arches an eyebrow, "I'm certainly disappointed your sister isn't here to document this momentous occasion for Instagram."

Payson swallows a giggle.

"Sorry, Kelly," Beth says, sitting up. "Wanna play eye spy, instead?"

"I spy with my little eye something beginning with _if I don't get picked for beam I'm going to kill someone!_ "

"Lauren, that's not how you play."

* * *

"So, we're in agreement?" Sasha ventures. He adjusts the dressing on his face and hopes to hell he gets affirmative answers.

"Definitely." Darby's enthusiasm has not dipped at all during their deliberation; whatever she's on, Sasha wants some of it.

Marcus taps a sharpie against his chin and stares at the whiteboard. "I think we may be there," he says, attempting to replicate the demeanour of Rodin's The Thinker.

 _Halle-bloody-lujah_.

"We cut Hayley from floor and bars; Lauren from vault; and Beth from beam." Sasha's voice sticks a little on the last assignment. Today's performance has only made him more certain that Drea is struggling mentally with the pressure, but he's been outvoted.

"Ooh!" Darby jumps from the sofa with vigour that makes Sasha feels about eighty. "Can I tell the girls?"

 _Considering Marcus looks ready to dry-hump his beloved white board and it'll take me a damn hour to walk down the stairs? Sure, knock yourself out_. "Be my guest," Sasha says, with a gentlemanly smile.

* * *

"Congratulations everyone! Rio, here we come!" Darby punctuates the end of her announcement with excited clapping.

Matching applause rings out from the small crowd gathered beside the office balcony as Darby, official duties now finished, jogs down the steps to capture Lauren in a squealing hug.

Hayley, happy to be named to two events, trades high fives with Beth, then skips over to the viewing area to see her excited parents.

Neither Beth's dad, nor her mom and stepdad, could make the trip to Boulder - she's been staying with a host family during her time at the Rock - so Sasha has relaxed the 'no cell phones on the floor' rule for her today and the young gymnast all but sprints to fetch it from her gym bag.

"Annex. Now." Coach Conway seems to believe that congratulating her daughter is a waste of time, a fact Drea must of anticipated since she's already walking towards the main doors before her mother finishes the instruction.

Payson watches her teammates with a sense of disbelief. I t's official; in two days she will be going to the World Artistic Gymnastics Championship to compete in all four disciplines. This is the opportunity she's been working her entire life to earn and, now it's actually a reality, she has no idea how to feel.

"Well done!" Kim hurries over from the viewing area to gather Payson in her arms.

"Thanks, Mom," Payson grins as Kim pushes a big kiss to her forehead.

"And you're feeling okay? No headaches?" Kim frowns at the healing cut on her daughter's forehead to check it's not reopened.

"I'm fine," Payson reassures, "stop worrying."

Kim shakes her head. "No can do; it's in the mother's handbook." She glances over to where Steve is waving to get her attention and rolls her eyes, "as they say, no rest for the wicked, or those who get paid by the wicked apparently."

After another hug, this time with an added cheek pinch - "oh, i am just so proud of you!" - Kim adheres to her boss's summons. As Payson watches her go, she spots Sasha leaning on the balcony balustrade, looking at her.

Three days ago, this was almost taken away. In an alternate reality, where that speeding car hit them at a slightly different angle or a slightly faster speed, Payson is standing alone, staring at empty air, kept company only by a memory of the man who should be mere inches away. Tears spring into her eyes as she feels the pain of that other Payson, the one who has lost the love she only just found. The intensity of Sasha's gaze makes her believe he knows exactly what she's thinking.

"So, I say we pin Drea's mom to the horse and strangle her with a stretch band." Kelly slings an arm round Payson's shoulders, voice too loud for her close proximity.

Payson blinks and finds Kelly has turned them away from the office to face the dangling ropes.

"He's as bad at this as you are," Kelly mutters.

"What?"

"Subtlety, Keeler. Making come-hump-me eyes at your entirely off-limits coach across a crowded gym? Not subtle."

"I was not…" Payson frowns, then realises debating exactly how she was looking at Sasha would also probably also count as unsubtle, "...nevermind."

Kelly has pulled an outdoor jacket on over her national team tracksuit and her gym bag is over her shoulder.

"Going somewhere?" Payson queries, finding it very difficult to focus on her teammate and not search out Sasha.

"Denver," Kelly says, unzipping her bag and rifling around inside. "Laundry, packing, suffering the ignominy of driving that trash can on wheels the insurance company sent me, you know, all that fun real life stuff." She softens the reference to her totalled convertible with a teasing grin.

"It must be so hard being you," Payson rolls her eyes and smiles.

"I'm glad you realise that." Kelly palms her car keys and rezips her bag. "So, I guess I'll see you at the airport?" As usual, the query is coated with nonchalance, but it's more brittle than usual and Kelly doesn't look at Payson as she speaks.

"Yeah, but I also better see you at my house tomorrow. Dad's making a good luck feast and I need another person there who's not allowed to eat it either."

Kelly hesitates almost imperceptibly - with relief? affection? - before her smugly superior facade slides back into place.

"You mean Papa Keeler isn't adhering to the pre-Worlds menu you so diligently - and not at all pedantically - typed up and stuck to the fridge door?"

"I saw you reading that to get snack ideas yesterday."

"I'm afraid I have no recollection of said event. And unless you've gone all bunny boiler stalker and installed a nanny cam, you have no proof."

Payson's smile is wide and kind. "Just don't be late."

"Haven't you learned yet? I'm never late, everyone else is just unfashionably early." She struts away across the floor, the untouchable World Champion. Only Payson hears her murmured, "thanks, Keeler."

* * *

It's low-light dusk when Payson exits the Rock. She's finished her cardio workout and ice bath, and has just experienced the luxury of an empty locker room as she took a long, hot shower. Beth and Hayley headed out not long after Kelly, and, since Payson can't hear Coach Conway bellowing, she assumes Drea has left for the day too.

The early evening air is cool and clean and Payson enjoys a deep breath as she looks over the tree line toward the mountains, wondering what vista she will be looking on in two days time. That unknown is both scary and exhilarating.

Payson lets her eyes linger on the horizon as she turns on her cell and cues up the voicemail she sees has been left.

" _Just checking in,"_ MJ's brisk voice greets. " _I'll be arriving in Rio late Wednesday and we have a meeting with Grrrl Bar scheduled for Saturday morning - which, if you ask me, is just an excuse for the rep to get a company funded jolly to Brazil considering the contract is already signed but so be it - so that's when I'll need you to put on your media hat. You need anything in the meantime, just text me. Tell Sasha the same. Bye for now."_

Payson sighs slightly as she pockets the phone, then rebukes her reaction; this company is set to give her two hundred and fifty thousand dollars if she medals, in return for posing for a few photos, that's not something to complain about.

She glances back at the Rock, considers going inside to wait for her mom and Sasha to finish the paperwork that seems to be multiplying by the hour, then decides that since the outdoors is something she's unlikely to see very much of over the next two weeks, she should take advantage of it while she can.

The walking frame and back brace may be fragments of the past, but Payson still feels the phantom weight of their presence as she sits down on the bench, recalling the chasm of pain that had been pickaxed through her gymnastics dreams when the doctor had told her her body was too broken to compete again. There's ammunition in that memory, gritty desire to capture what was so very nearly taken out of reach forever.

A peaceful stillness settles over Payson as she watches the mountains change colour in the burgeoning dark and thinks of Rio.


	25. Chapter 25

**CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE**

Payson has just finished bullet point five of her packing checklist when the doorbell rings.

"Hope you didn't cry yourself to sleep last night because you missed me so much," Kelly greets, shoving a massive suitcase through the door ahead of her and narrowly missing crushing Phoebe.

"It's okay, I had plenty of kleenex," Payson grunts, as a large duffle bag is dumped in her arms, making her stagger. "Jesus, Parker, you know planes have a luggage limit, right?"

Kelly, a small, designer backpack perched on one shoulder, saunters over the threshold into the hallway. "That's what the NGO travel allowance is for, newbie."

"How stupid of me," Payson deadpans, hoisting the duffle bag onto the suitcase and pushing them both against the entrance hall wall. "How about forking over some of that travel allowance as a tip for mistaking me for a bellboy?"

"I'm using it to cover the cleaning charge for getting all the dog hair off my luggage." Kelly narrows her eyes as Phoebe, overexcited at the new smells bought in with bags, paws at the suitcase, giving it a thorough sniff. "Can't you keep control of that mutt?"

Phoebe chooses that moment to start nibbling one of the plastic wheels.

Payson gives Kelly a broad smile. "You know, I don't think I can." She retreats to her bedroom, Kelly - spluttering outrages about damage to property - follows, pulling the door shut behind her.

"So, where's your boy?"

" _Sasha_ is in the living room."

As Payson picks up her checklist and pen, Kelly pushes the open suitcase aside to give her enough room to flop onto Payson's bed. She shifts around trying to find a comfortable position, then pulls out a bunched up t-shirt from under her back and chucks it onto the floor. "Tell your boy he needs to learn to clean up after himself."

"Stop calling him that," Payson frowns, still focused on her list.

"Sorry, your _man_."

"Gees, I'm so glad you decided to come by early." Payson punctuates her sarcasm by picking the t-shirt off the carpet and throwing it at her teammate.

Kelly ducks out the way and sits up on her knees to watch Payson retrieve the items listed under bullet point six and drop them into the suitcase. She smirks and grabs one.

"Ok, _now_ I see why your boy has been banished to the couch, you're scared he'll see _these_ and won't be able to control himself." She twirls a pair of flesh coloured panties that are worn under leotards round one finger. "Nothing says sexy like panties so high cut you can tuck them into your bra."

"Okay, one?" Payson snatches her underwear back and tucks them next to the other pairs, "Sasha has not been banished to the couch, he is watching TV. Two, stop referring to him as 'my boy'. And three, he is never, _ever_ , seeing these." She ignores Kelly's laughing as she fetches the matching flesh coloured sports bras. "Or - before you say it - _these_." She ticks off ' _competition underwear'_ on her list with enough force to nearly break the biro nib.

"Don't worry, Keeler, Aunty Kelly is here to take you on an emergency trip to Victoria's Secret if you need." Kelly rolls onto her stomach and cups her chin in her hands, feet kicking jauntily in the air.

"I have other underwear." Payson has no idea why she feels the need to defend her lingerie choices. "There." She points at a tidy row of rolled plain black cotton panties slotted next to her bulging make up bag.

"You wild woman," Kelly pouts dramatically before giggling again.

"Just…" Payson looks for something else to throw at her teammate but doesn't want to wreck any of the neat piles she gathered on her carpet and dresser during pre-packing. "...be quiet.

Kelly manages to last from bullet point seven - _hair_ _products_ \- through bullet point nine - _electrical_ \- before she groans, "can I talk yet? Preferably about you getting help for this checklist fetish?" She makes a grab for Payson's notebook but Payson whips it out of reach. Kelly flops back on the mattress in a sulk.

"Fine," Payson submits, "you can talk, but only about Worlds since, you know, we leave for it in," Payson glances at her wristwatch and blanches "seventeen hours!" She glares at Kelly. "You've put me thirty minutes behind schedule!"

"Oh for god's...You're behind your anally retentive schedule 'cause you keep checking everything five times," Kelly snatches the notebook, scans the list, then shoves it back at Payson's chest. "Do your carry on bag, I'll finish your suitcase."

"But…"

"So Drea got the nod over Beth on beam, not exactly a shocker, huh?" Kelly talks over Payson's protests, scooping together the already checked stacks of _nightwear_ and _relaxation_ _clothes_ from the carpet and dumping them in the suitcase.

Payson, after getting her hand slapped away for trying to fold a vest top, begrudgingly turns to the next page of her notebook which details what she needs to take in the aeroplane cabin.

"It surprised _me_ ," Payson admits, fetching a document wallet from the dresser, "Beth is way more consistent than Drea."

"You have seen what Drea looks like, right?" Kelly continues to stuff balled up pajama bottoms between Payson's formerly neat rows of tightly rolled t-shirts.

"And what, oh wise Yoda, has that got to do with anything?"

"Skill wise on beam, Beth and Drea are pretty much equal, right? So it comes down to who the NGO want to give more spotlight to. Shocker of shockers, they pick the girl who could be a model."

Payson pauses from double checking her passport is in its designated slot in her backpack. "Sasha doesn't make decisions on that basis."

Kelly shrugs as she turns to the last pile on the carpet. "I know he doesn't, so I guess he got outvoted." She picks up a wedge of brightly coloured spandex and body mesh.

"Don't!" Payson starts to warn but Kelly quickly counters as she places the stack carefully on an empty piece of mattress.

"Relax, Keeler, I'm not going to mess up your leotards." Payson smile of thanks is short lived after Kelly adds. "Since i'm going to have to stand next to you when you're wearing them."

"Your concern is touching."

Kelly ignores the comment, instead unfurling the top leotard. "Nothing majorly vile this year, thank God." The leotard she's holding is the one they all voted to wear for qualification: a red foil body with navy blue sleeves dotted with rhinestones.

Each gymnast has been allocated seven specially designed leotards for the championship, along with two sleeveless versions that will be used for podium training. Though the fitting sessions were a hassle, Payson is glad that the fine tailoring means baggy arms or exposed underwear won't be things she has to worry about.

There's a knock on the door.

"Come in!" Kelly yells.

Becca enters, Phoebe at her heels, before Payson can chastise Kelly for taking over her room.

"Hey," Becca says, at a volume that's quiet for her. Payson's big sister radar starts pinging.

"What's up?" Payson looks at her sister curiously. She's holding something behind her back.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure. Kelly, get out."

"Charming," Kelly rolls her eyes as she replaces the leotard. "Let's hope Sasha hasn't got too attached to the remote." She sweeps from the room.

"Now," Payson sits down on her bed and pats the mattress next to her, "what's up?"

Becca doesn't sit. "I made something for you," she says, face wrinkling in an anticipatory smile.

"You did?" Payson tries to peer behind Becca's back. It's a large something covered in cloth.

"Since we can't come with you to Worlds - which totally sucks, by the way, but I understand why - I wanted you to know that we're gonna be thinking about you the whole time." Becca offers the present to her sister.

Smiling with curiosity, Payson props the object on her knee as Becca sits beside her. Carefully, she eases the cloth away to reveal a thin canvas covered in photographs.

"Oh, Becca," Payson murmurs as she studies the intricate collage.

Family photos from vacations and Christmases and gymnastics meets smile out at her. There are cut-outs from gymnastics magazines, snippets of newspaper articles, and, in the bottom corner, Becca's neat writing beneath a photo of Payson and Becca clutching their trophies at the Rock Awards saying 'Love you, big sister! xx'.

"This must have taken you forever," Payson says, tears springing up.

"You like it?" Becca ventures.

"I love it." Payson wraps Becca up in a big hug. "It's the sweetest present ever."

"I checked and it'll fit in the top of your suitcase so you can take it to pin up in your hotel room," Becca explains, snuggling into Payson's shoulder.

"If I could fit you in my suitcase too, I would," Payson sniffs. Becca giggles, though there is an audible sniff to her laughter as well. Phoebe hops up onto Becca's lap to sniff at the collage and the sisters make a fuss of her, using the distraction as time to blink back tears.

"So," Becca says, wiping at her cheek, "I was talking to Sasha, and he said he's banning social media use during Worlds?"

Payson nods, reverently laying the collage in the top section of her suitcase. "He doesn't want any distractions."

"Right. So I was thinking we do a couple of final Instagram posts tonight? And then if you could take a bunch of photos while you're at Worlds, we can do some features when you get back? What if..."

As Payson watches her vibrant, creative little sister bounce about the room - because Becca never was any good at sitting still for long - reeling off ideas and plans, she realises not only how much she loves her, but how much she respects her.

"Sorry, Pay." Though Becca pauses in the middle of a very long sentence, it isn't to draw breath. "I'm totally interrupting your packing schedule, aren't I?"

"How about a compromise," Payson says, ruffling Phoebe's fur and scooting her off her lap. "You talk, I pack."

Becca grins and, though it may be trick of the light, for a moment Payson sees how her baby sister will look when she's grown up. She concentrates on the pride she feels rather than the sadness.

"So," Becca begins as Payson gathers her emotions and turns back to her luggage, "I'm going to need you to take a bunch of photos of your hotel room. Oooh, I'll make you a list…."

* * *

For the first time in five days, Sasha keys open his trailer. There is great temptation to catch ten minutes shut eye in his own bed. Payson has given him some privacy while she does a stretching session in the gym, so he has the leeway time wise, but ten minutes would surely turn into an hour so, feeling as if gravity has doubled in pressure, he hauls his travel bag from the storage bin over the couch and drops it on his siren-calling mattress with a thud. Ribs crunch and his growling groan echoes off the walls.

 _Packing_. _Right_. Sasha closes one eye in an attempt to lessen the pulsing thud of a headache and remember what he needs to bring to Rio. _Clothes_. _Clothes would be good_. He doesn't have many which saves decision making. Dress shoes and spare pair of trainers are thrown in first; t-shirts, boxer briefs, and socks get scooped out of their communal drawer; sweatpants, jeans, and shorts are fished out the thin, one-rail cupboard. He squashes them down into the wheeled bag, fetches his uniform tracksuit and various Team USA apparel which are all still in their plastic wrappers, and chucks them on top. Dress slacks, two shirts, that should cover anything formal; they're already rumpled so the hell with folding. The hotel has laundry and drycleaning services, might as well make the most of them. It probably has free toiletries too. His toothbrush is at Payson's. Anything else he can buy if necessary. The bag zips closed without too much need for squishing.

The NGO scheduling office is taking care of the necessary accreditation and sending a staffer with the team to deal with all the red-tape. Sasha just needs to remember his passport. Which should be in the drawer he's just opened. And is not. _Bollocks_.

Sasha has ransacked the entire trailer and is gingerly kneeling down to check under the couch when he remembers the passport is with the file of notes he was working on this morning. At Payson's house. His swearing is loud and bilingual and only once he's finished utilising his Romanian vocabulary does he hear the knocking at the door.

"Come in," he calls, instruction immediately giving way to a yawn as he sits back on his heels.

Luckily, Payson is strong because the door requires a hard shove to push through the pile of possessions Sasha tossed aside in search of his not actually missing passport.

"Planning a yard sale?" she ventures, edging round the door jam and narrowly escaping being squashed as the door cedes to the pressure of the junk pile and snaps closed.

Sasha wants to respond with something self-deprecating and witty but the litany of curse words he's just released seem to have sapped his mental faculties. "Looking for my passport."

Payson offers him a hand and braces most of his weight as she helps lever him to his feet. "Your passport is at my house."

Sasha nods, knowing he must look forlorn and pathetic right now, and closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see Payson witnessing this weakness.

Cool fingers stroke up one side of his jaw, while a gentle palm cups the other bandage covered cheek. As he's leaning into the cradling hold, hands automatically finding purchase and support around Payson's waist, lips brush against his own, kissing first the upper, then the lower. He doesn't deserve this, doesn't merit this wonderful girl caring for him when all her focus should be on herself at this critical time in her life, but he hasn't the strength to push her away.

Something crunches under foot as Sasha pulls Payson flush against him, winding one hand up her back, the other down her thigh. Her palms slide round the back of his head, nails digging in just enough to make him arch into them. She must be on her tiptoes to keep the pressure in the kiss like she is, this depth of connection, again doing all the work so he doesn't have to. Still, weakness betrays him as a sudden cough bubbles up from rib-impacted lungs that can't quite deal with this change in breathing pattern.

"'M sorry," he wheezes, acutely embarrassed, backing up and putting his wrist against his mouth to stopper the rasping of his throat.

"Not your fault," Payson reassures, gently urging him to sit down on his bed. There's a slight hesitancy before she sits beside him and Sasha rebukes providence for testing them like this when nothing about their relationship is yet certain or simple.

"Are you nearly done packing?" she asks, and Sasha finds himself chuckling then laughing outright because his living space looks like a tornado just passed through. Joint laughter bubbles from Payson, and if there is a tinge of hysteria to both their voices Sasha doesn't care right now; it gives him enough of an endorphin rush that he can gather Payson into his body, brushing kisses to her forehead as it tips against his chin.

"Just so you know," Payson tells him, playing with the collar of his dark grey t-shirt, "this does _not_ count as a first date."

Sasha's barked laugh turns into another coughing fit which provokes more laughter from both of them.

"No, you sit, relax," Sasha warns when, after another few minutes spend holding each other, Payson dips to pick up a half-empty box of tea bags dislodged when he apparently lost all sense of reasoning and suspected he had stashed his passport in the kitchen cabinet.

"I'll sort this lot; it won't take me long." It's kind of a lie, because sorting this lot out would take a lot of time, but since he plans to do the bare minimum it's not an outright untruth.

As he lumbers around the tiny floor space, repeatedly stepping in Phoebe's basket, Sasha keeps glancing at Payson, who is crossed legged on his bed, eyes closed in mediation. The surge of rightness and contentment at her presence in this most mundane aspect of his life surprises him by its veracity. It's not something he's ever experienced before.

When he dozes off in the car ride back to the Keeler's house, packed bag in the trunk, Sasha dreams of going home to his Cambria cabin with Payson by his side.

* * *

"So, without further ado - since dinner is getting cold and my eldest daughter looks ready to die of embarrassment - would you please raise your glasses to two very talented young women and join me in wishing them all the luck in the world. To Payson and Kelly." Mark holds up his beer to salute his toast.

"Payson and Kelly!" Kim and Becca cheer over the clinking of bottlenecks and coke cans and water glasses.

"Come on, Payson," Kim chuckles, cutting into her breadcrumb coated chicken breast, "you didn't expect your father to miss the opportunity of making a speech."

Payson, cheeks flame red, spoons some new potatoes onto her plate. "Expect? No. Hoped? Yes!"

Everyone at the table laughs, even Kelly, though - as Payson glances at her - she seems a little nonplussed by the whole situation. Sobering slightly, Payson wonders what Kelly would have been doing tonight if an invitation to this informal farewell dinner hadn't been issued.

"You sure we shouldn't bring Sasha a plate?" Becca asks round a mouthful of peas.

Payson shakes her head. "He had a couple of sandwiches earlier. Pretty sure he's asleep already." She actually knows for certain he is asleep, having checked on him twice, but she doesn't need her parents joking about how attentive she's being; she already feels guilty enough for lying to them by omission.

"Okay, smile!" Having abandoned her food for the moment, Becca - sitting opposite - is pointing her phone at Payson and Kelly.

"I want to see those photos before you post them," Kelly warns.

"Don't worry," Becca singsongs as she taps away at her phone screen, "I can photoshop out your double chin." She shoots a sly smile at her big sister as Kelly rises to the bait.

"Okay, baby Keeler, you did not just say I had a double chin!"

The meal passes in a happy haze of familial camaraderie that Payson wishes could last longer.

"Right," Mark announces as Becca clears away the desert plates, "so that's embarrassing toast: done. Delicious meal: eaten. Which just leaves…" he pauses as he reaches into his pocket and, with a dramatic flourish, pulls out a small, brightly wrapped box, "presents."

"Da-ad," Payson says, tilting her head as he puts the gift in front of her, "you didn't have to get me anything."

"Nonsense," Mark slips an arm around Becca's waist as she hurries over to watch her sister. "If you can't be overly sentimental when your daughter's going off to conquer the world, when can you be."

"Here here!" Kim agrees, leaning forward in her chair opposite Payson.

Fingers trembling at little - God, she really has to get control of her emotions by tomorrow - Payson unties the red ribbon and peels off the matching paper, revealing a matt black ring box. Carefully, she eases open the stiff lid and, on seeing the contents, feels water fill her eyes. Laying on black velvet is a delicate trace chain on which is threaded a silver tiffany open heart pendant.

"It's beautiful," she breaths, looking again at both her parents and her sister.

Kim reaches across the table to grasp her daughter's hand. "You may be going six thousand miles away, but never doubt that we are always with you." She blinks rapidly and starts to chuckle. "And I told myself I wouldn't cry."

"We are so proud of you, Payson." Her dad's voice reaches the baritone it only hits when he's speaking emotional truth.

"Ok, now _I'm_ gonna cry," Becca sniffs, "and I totally forgot to wear waterproof mascara!"

The comment is met with more chuckles. Payson presses the heel of her hand beneath each eye to pat away tears.

"It's really beautiful, Payson," Kelly says, quietly, and Payson does her best not to jump; she'd forgotten Kelly was there.

"And this is for you." Kim holds out a small gift bag.

"For me." Kelly looks between Kim and Payson, then Mark and Becca, her tone incredulous.

"It's silly, but I couldn't leave him on the shelf and I knew you'd give him a good home." Kim tries to be nonchalant but she's clearly upset that receiving a gift is so foreign to Kelly that the girl doesn't know how to react.

Everyone pretends they don't see Kelly's whole arm shaking as she takes the bag. She puts it carefully on her empty placemat, unties the ribbon holding the handles together, and slowly pulls out a small grey teddy bear holding a four leaf clover.

"Oh, that is so cute!" Becca coos.

Kelly stares at the bear, frowning, cradling it in both hands, fingers gentle on the grey fur. She swallows hard and blinks furiously. "Thanks," she manages to squeeze out before coughing and repeating, more steadily, "thank you."

"You're welcome, honey," Kim answers, waiting until Kelly will meet her eyes and giving her a warm and genuine smile when she does.

Feeling she's intruding, Payson leaves her mother and her teammate - her friend - at the table, makes a show of bustling Becca over to the washing up and flicking bubbles at her as they play-bicker over who gets to dry.

Later, when Payson checks her phone for the last time before going to sleep, she grins at the photograph Becca has chosen as their last Instagram post before Worlds: a small grey teddy bear wearing a tiffany heart necklace.

* * *

Since Sasha was asleep before the evening news and the Keeler's aren't exactly night owls, Kelly only has to wait until just after ten thirty before she's certain she can sneak into the backyard unobserved. The night sky is clear, the cold air crisp, and she is glad of the large coat she dragged out of one of the overspilling boxes taking up carpet space in the spare room.

Kelly rarely goes to bed before midnight, a hangover from deliberately fighting her mother's enforced bedtime of nine o'clock during her early teen years, but tonight it's her swirling mind that's precluding any chance of sleep. No matter which way she looks at it, she can't identify an hidden agenda in the kindness the Keelers have shown her in the last few weeks. Okay, theoretically there's a self-interested silver lining for Payson, trading friendship for Kelly's silence over the relationship with Sasha, but she would bet big money the thought hasn't even crossed Payson's mind.

Sighing, Kelly sits down on the edge of the deck, sneakered feet resting on the top step, and looks out at the dark lawn. She doesn't hate her mother as a person, years of therapy have taught her that much, but she does hate that the echoes of her mother's actions are still impacting on her life. For god's sake, the gift of a teddy bear nearly had her sobbing at the dinner table; that's how little she expects anyone to care about her.

"Gold medal job of fucking up my self esteem, mother," Kelly says aloud, hunching into the borrowed coat.

They haven't spoken in two years but Kelly has no trouble imagining what her mother would say if she knew that during her rushed packing last night and this morning, Kelly's mind was not on defending her title in Rio, but on debating whether to come clean to Payson about her ankle.

"Emotion leads to distraction and distraction leads to failure? That about right?" Kelly looks at the starry canopy above. Last she heard her mother was living in Maine. She has a fleeting image of some kind of maternal connection being triggered right now, of Sheila pausing as she makes a cup of coffee, feeling a sudden pang she can't identify, but it's such a laughable fantasy that Kelly offers a wry smile to the night sky.

"This house must be infecting me with sentiment." She pretends there isn't a hitch in her throat.

Even if she did decide to be honest with Payson, Kelly isn't entirely sure what she'd say. Sure, she could confess to the amount of cortisone she's been using in the past few months but, to Payson's almost certain follow up question - how bad is the injury really? - Kelly doesn't have an accurate answer to give.

A CT scan diagnosed stress fractures in the navicular of her left ankle four months ago and she'd followed the recommended rest period, though opting for the lower end of the six to eight week suggestion. Initially, the excruciatingly boring weeks of elevation and icing and support boots seemed to have worked. But then, as her training regime had kicked back into high gear, the swelling and pain had returned.

Marty had only once floated the option of forgoing Worlds in favour of surgery and concentrating on London next year, and they both knew he only did that to salve his conscience: there's too much of the reckless competitor in both of them not to view that option as quitting.

Kelly bites at her lip, wondering whether Sasha would force the issue if he knew, insist she get a second CT scan to judge the current condition of the bone.

"Too late now anyway, right, Mom?" she sighs into the night.

She wants to sit out here longer, take advantage of the privacy that championship experience warns her will be non-existent over the next ten days, but she stands instead, easing her way through the back door and locking it quietly behind her.

Kelly knows too well the danger of dwelling on realities that can't be changed.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Just a quick note to say that, over the holidays, I'm only going to be posting one chapter instead of two. New chapters will still be up every Tuesday and Thursday, though. Hope you are all enjoying the story - we are finally off to Rio! I always love to hear what you guys think, so drop me a comment x**

 **CHAPTER TWENTY SIX**

"Ok, random question" Hayley starts, kneeling up and leaning her elbows on the back of her seat to look at her four teammates seated in the two sets of paired seats behind. "If I took a photo of me posing like the statue of Jesus in front of the statue of Jesus and put is as my Facebook photo, do you think that would offend anyone?"

Payson, in the middle row, pretends to be fascinated by the view of clouds outside the plane window.

"How do you pose as Jesus?" Beth, sitting beside Hayley, kneels up to imitate Hayley's position, propping her chin on the back of the seat.

"You know." Hayley spreads her arms out wide and tips her head forward, going rigid.

"You look like a hunchback contemplating suicide," Kelly comments. She's sitting behind Lauren, next to Drea, feeling like the harassed mother of slightly dense children.

"Fi-ne." Hayley slumps down in her seat. "I'll think of something else."

They're two hours out of Denver, flying south at thirty thousand feet. Beth has already asked twice if they're there yet.

"Enjoying business class, ladies?" Sasha walks up the aisle from his seat on the other side of the cabin.

"I could get used to it," Payson smiles over at him. She's in the window seat; Lauren is snoring beside her. "Though if we don't win, I bet the NGO will ship us home in the baggage locker."

"Actually, I think the official plan is to duct tape us to the wing," Sasha jokes back. "Anyway," he pushes on, deliberately looking away from Payson to regather his train of thought, "instruction time. Lauren?" He nudges Lauren's arm gently. She frowns in her sleep and bats him away with a "mehhhh".

"Wakey wakey, Miss Tanner," Sasha tries again.

Blinking lazily, smacking her lips and yawning like a cat, Lauren comes to. Sasha is the first person she focuses on. Her shriek is so shrill that Sasha takes a step back and the others jump in their seats.

"I'm sorry," Lauren pants, hand on her chest, as everyone in the section looks in her direction. "Your face was just right there and it totally scared me for a second."

"My face totally scared you?"

Lauren's eyes widen as she realises what she's said. "No! You're face isn't scary, not at all. It's just the," she waves a hand at the left side of his face, "stitches are a bit..."

"Gross?" Sasha suggests.

"Yeah. No!" Lauren corrects again as the other girls smother their laughter. "Your face is definitely not gross. Not usually anyway, cause I mean, you're like the hottest coach out of all the coaches. But with the sutures and stuff it just looks a bit, you know, scabby."

"I'm scabby?" Sasha enquires, innocently.

Lauren shoots Payson a 'for the love of God help me' look. Payson's too busy snorting with amusement. "I'm just going to be quiet now," Lauren concedes, slumping down in her seat.

"Don't stop, this is way more entertaining than the in-flight movies," Kelly mocks.

It's lucky for Kelly that, being business class, the seats are too far apart for Lauren to recline her seat into her teammate's face.

"If we're all done insulting each other?" Sasha looks at his gymnasts. "Good. As I was saying: instruction time." Trusty clipboard in hand, he browses the top sheet. "Item one: when we land I want full uniforms, jackets zipped up. Beth, that means no hat."

Beth wrinkles her nose and places both hands on her threadbare Yankees cap as if Sasha plans to rip it off her head and toss it out the airlock. "But this is my lucky hat."

"Aren't you a Royals fan?" Sasha frowns.

"Yes."

"So why is a Yankees cap luck... you know what, nevermind, just lose the cap when we land."

"But..."

"Not literally lose...moving on. Item two: there is bound to be press at the airport. You do not answer any questions. Marcus has scheduled a press conference for tomorrow afternoon. And Kelly?" Sasha looks over the seat to his eldest gymnast. " _No comment_ also means no snide remarks. I do not want to spend another day explaining to the press that you were joking when you told a reporter that the NGO use you as a drug mule by hiding eight-balls in your bunches."

Kelly sighs, adjusting her unique hairstyle. "Typical. I'm punished because other people have zero sense of humour."

"Take it up with the union," Sasha says, turning back to his clipboard.

"Item three: room assignments." Sasha ignores the rumble of demands that are thrown at him. "We are going by alphabetical order: Beth and Drea; Payson and Kelly; Hayley and Lauren. If you don't like it, moan at your parents for giving you those surnames, not me.

"Item four: you will not leave the hotel without a chaperone. Don't look at me like that Hayley, this is not a vacation, nor is it an opportunity for you to get a new Facebook photo."

"How did you..." Hayley starts.

"You have a loud voice and, yes, some people would find it offensive."

"Which people?"

"Stupid people with way too much time on their hands?"

"Thank you, Kelly. Item five: we have been allocated a podium training slot at eleven tomorrow morning, I want you dressed and fed by nine. The kitchen will be given your dietary requirements so no complaints about the food.

"Item six: the honor code that you were all so giddy about signing still stands. I will make it simple for you all: for the sake of my sanity - and your arses - just make sure no boys are found in your rooms.

"Item seven." By habit, Sasha goes to run his hand through his hair; it's less satisfying now there's only a sheen of unruffleable spikes to scratch. "Wait." He frowns at his clipboard. "There is no item seven."

"Hallelujah."

" _Kelly_."

"Sorry."

"You guys get some rest. The NGO coughed up for these posh seats so your bodies could relax; take advantage. If you need anything, I'll be figuring out how to open a bag of peanuts with this claw." Sasha salutes them with his bulky cast.

Lauren stands as soon as Sasha is gone. "I'm gonna see Darbs. Lates y'all."

Payson waves as Lauren heads down the plane, then kneels up in her seat and looks over the back. Drea is in the seat directly behind, staring out the window.

"Pretty cool, huh?"

"What?" Drea, shaken from a private reverie, looks up at Payson as if she's a stranger.

"Business class." Payson keeps the smile on her face though it takes effort; Drea is very pale.

"Yeah, pretty cool," Drea replies, without much enthusiasm. She's trying for a smile but doesn't appear to have the energy.

"Look," Payson leans closer over the seat and drops her voice, "I'm sorry we haven't had a chance to talk yet. We can get together later if you want?"

A flash of something Payson can't read glides across Drea's features. "That's okay. It doesn't matter now," she says, quietly, looking out the window again and disappearing back into her own mind.

Payson glances over at Kelly, who has been pretending to read the inflight magazine. She gets no comfort from the alarm in her teammate's expression.

* * *

The Praia do Pepino Hotel Resort and Convention Centre sits on the western edge of Rio de Janeiro, boasting beautiful views of Guanabara Bay and easy access to all the major city hotspots.

"Holy crap on a cracker," is Beth's assessment on the interior as she gazes around the stunning atrium.

"You said that already," Hayley comments.

"She's said it _four times_ , already," Kelly moans.

The hotel's main entrance lobby appears to be carved through the first five floors of the building, with open arched walkways revealing doors that lead to conference suites and hotel rooms. Double wide elevator shafts sit opposite each other, both reaching to the ceiling and disappearing into the high rise tower above. Light streams down from a section of glass roof, illuminating the tropical foliage which hangs from the hundreds of planters mounted on the internal balconies. The main floor is a mix of curved sandy-marble pathways lined with palm trees and carpeted 'islands' where chairs are grouped to provide areas for guests to relax. It's one of these that Team USA has commandeered while Sasha and Reese - the administrator from the NGO scheduling office - check everyone in.

"How long does it take to fetch a damn key?" Kelly grumps. She's flopped in one of the soft chairs, eyes closed and head reclined, legs draped over the arm, the definition - in Payson's opinion - of an annoyed diva.

"It's been eight minutes," Payson chastises, then returns to studying the other gymnasts milling around the atrium, watching for any limps and any obvious bandages.

"Spot any weak links yet?" Kelly sighs. As a past subject of Payson's investigatory eye, she knows her teammate isn't simply admiring the hotel's decor.

"Larissa Ungureanu didn't leave with the rest of the Romanians," Payson frowns, making a mental note. She prefers to trust her own intel rather than rely on gossip blogs and official team statements.

Giggles billow up from Lauren and Darby. They're sitting with Steve in the adjacent cluster of chairs. Payson turns to see what they're laughing about but someone taps on her shoulder.

"I heard the future champs were here," Austin, suited in the men's version of the USA team uniform, grins widely.

"See? That's how long we've been waiting: even Mr Oblivious To Anything That's Not Related To Himself knew we were conducting a freakin' sit in," Kelly laments, not bothering to turn round in her chair, instead just hanging her head a little further back so she can glare at Austin upside down.

"And a good afternoon to you too, Miss Parker," Austin bows ostentatiously offering Kelly his most debonair smile.

Kelly rolls her eyes and sits up with a huff. "Payson, tell Mr Not As Charming As He Thinks He Is that if he wants to break the habit of a lifetime and actually be useful, he can go find Sasha," she instructs, keeping her back to them.

"She's grouchy 'cause she's hungry," Payson explains as she and Austin exchange a hello hug.

"I am not grouchy!"

"So how did you know we'd arrived?" Payson queries, ignoring her teammate.

"Just got back from podium training, saw you sitting here," Austin admits. "Hey guys," he says to Hayley, who waves without looking away from her phone screen, and Beth, who is seated cross-legged at Kelly's feet.

"Hello," Beth says, wide eyes trained on Austin as if she's memorising every feature. Payson notices the fifteen-year-old does this with all new people she's introduced to and not many cope with the intense scrutiny as smoothly as Austin.

"Hello," Austin bends down and offers his hand, "Beth, right? Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you." Beth shakes his hand solemnly. "That's Drea over there; you haven't met her either."

Drea is standing ten feet away from the rest of the team with her mother, who has been glued to a cell phone since they got off the plane. The girl is staring at the floor, posture hunched with misery.

"Tell her I said hi?" Austin offers to Beth whilst exchanging a concerned glance with Payson.

After Beth nods agreement, Austin stands and leans toward Payson. "Can I talk to you about something privately?"

"Sure," Payson says, noting the change in his tone. "Back in a sec," she calls, then follows Austin round the curve of the path to a fountain large enough to block them from the view of the rest of the team. A narrow stream flows between it and three other water features in the atrium, tiny bridges marking the places it crisscrosses with the path.

"What's up?"

Austin comes straight to the point. "I'm worried about Kaylie."

Payson's stomach tightens. "Has she relapsed?"

"No," Austin immediately reassures, "her anorexia treatment is going great; I think she's really turned a corner."

"Then…?" Payson prompts as Austin skitters his hand through a spray of water, apparently struggling with how to continue.

"I'm not even sure I should be talking to you about this," Austin sighs, clearly uncomfortable about breaking the covenant of his and Kaylie's relationship. "It's just I could do with a second opinion and you've known her for a long time." Another big sigh. "I think she's regretting her decision to give up gymnastics."

Payson makes no hasty retort, waiting for her immediate emotional response of 'and she couldn't realise this _before_ Worlds?' to fade so she can ask the more reasonable question "she wants to come back?"

Austin puts his hands on his narrow hips and breathes deep. "Honestly? I don't know. But the closer we've gotten to Worlds..." He finishes with a shrug, not knowing how to verbalise his gut suspicion.

Payson nods. There's still time for Kaylie to get back in competition shape by London; it'd be a close run thing but… "You want me to talk to her?"

Austin smiles and shakes his head. "I don't know that either. I just...you and Lauren are her best friends; maybe you can help her where I can't."

"When does she arrive?"

"Monday night."

"Okay," Payson says, "Let's wait til she gets here, see how she is, then we'll figure out what to do next."

Austin huffs a relieved sigh. "Thanks, Pay. Sorry to put this on you."

Payson waves away the apology with a "what are friends for?" but remembers how, before Nationals, when Kaylie ran away to gymnastics camp, compassion was certainly not her first reaction.

"Payson?"

"What? Sorry, miles away." _Literally_ , Payson thinks. "What's that?" She frowns at the folded up piece of paper Austin is holding out to her.

"It's from Max." Austin rolls his eyes.

"Why is he sending me notes?" Payson squeaks.

"It's for Lauren," Austin reassures, laughing at Payson's obvious relief. "Max was gonna come talk to her but she's sitting with her dad. Honor code and all that."

Payson plucks the note from Austin's fingers and slips it into her pocket as they walk back to the rest of the team. "And he thought note before text?"

Austin chuckles. "Max likes things old school."

"O-kay."

Austin touches her shoulder as they rejoin the others. "Look, I gotta go, we're taking some city tour and I need to change."

Kelly, hearing the last part, flounces further into her chair. "So typical: _they_ get to sightsee, _we_ get chained to the sinks."

"They're chaining us to a sink?" Beth looks up from the floor, alarmed.

"Oh, just kill me now."

Luckily, Sasha and Reese return with a stack of key cards before anyone can make good on Kelly's request.

"Thirteen?" Haley utters in terror as the elevator clicks onto the correct number.

"Lucky for some," Beth says, happily pulling her bag onto her shoulder and following the others into the right hand corridor of the horseshoe shaped floor.

Kelly stares. "It's _un_ lucky for...seriously, where are you from?"

Everyone pauses while Reese distributes keycards to those staying in this wing. Somehow - although the rooms were meant to be reserved for gymnasts, coaches, medics, and NGO support staff - this group includes Steve Tanner.

"At least he's not next door?" Lauren tries to find a bright side to her father's close proximity as they turn ninety degrees into the long middle section of corridor.

Here, more key cards are handed out, recipients including Darby, Coach Conway, and Sasha. His room is at the corner junction where the corridor turns ninety degrees back on itself.

"And you girls are in these rooms," Reese announces, gesturing at the doors in the final shorter hallway.

"We get our own elevator!" Lauren exhales in relief at not having to pass Steve's room every time she wants to leave the floor. "Not that I'm planning on going anywhere," she adds quickly, on seeing Sasha's expression.

"I have no problem with you going to the dining hall or the gym or the pool," Sasha tells her, "in fact I would recommend it. Ladies," he says to them all, "the rest of the day is your own," he checks his watch, "all four hours of it. And yes, Kelly, before you say it, I realise it's seven hours until midnight but since you will all be in your rooms by nine o'clock, I rounded down."

Kelly closes her mouth primly.

"Darby's going to be checking in on you two in a minute." Sasha looks at Beth and Drea who, being under sixteen, are required by law to have closer supervision than the others.

"She'll show us where to eat?" Beth checks.

"Yup. She's going to give you a grand tour of the hotel, which is of course open to the rest of you," he nods at the older girls. "Any questions? Good. I'll see you all first thing tomorrow morning."

Payson deliberately doesn't watch him go, instead fulfilling the task of delivering Max's note to Lauren while Hayley hurries to open their room door and have first choice of beds.

Lauren unfurls the note and reads with a look of satisfaction while saying to Payson, "and I do not need a stupid lecture about how going to Max's room violates the stupid honor code..."

"No lecture, promise," Payson interrupts.

Lauren eyes her suspiciously. "Really? Are you sick?" She makes a show of checking Payson's forehead for fever.

"Look," Payson bats Lauren's hand away and changes the subject. "You know Kaylie's flying in Monday?"

Lauren bursts into a grin. "I know; I'm so excited. There a problem?" She falters a little when she notes Payson's expression.

"No," Payson reassures, not wanting to go into details now. "I just think it's important we spend some time with her while she's here."

Lauren looks at Payson like she's grown a second nose. "Ok, seriously? What's with you? First, you're all whatever about me meeting up with Max, and now you're on me about spending time with Kaylie instead of spending every waking second training? Did they check you for brain damage after that car hit you?" She pokes at Payson's temple.

Luckily for Payson, Darby chooses that moment to bounce round the corner.

"Isn't this amazing, girls," she sing-songs. "We can have a slumber party in the corridor!"

Apparently Lauren's concern for Payson's mental health is trumped by the prospect of any type of party. "It'll be just like camp!" She joins in Darby's jig of excitement and Payson decides now would be a great time to check out her own room.

"If my name had been Kelly Tarker instead of Parker, the prospect of sharing a room with _that_ level of pep would have made me change it," Kelly grimaces, as soon as Payson comes through the propped open door.

"You mean you don't want to learn how to do their super special handshake?" Payson smirks, as she kicks the door closed and hauls her suitcase across the carpet.

Kelly glowers, offended by the very suggestion.

Payson laughs then takes stock of the room. It's narrow but long, two beds facing a custom built row of maple furniture that includes a wardrobe, two dressing table desks, a mini fridge, and two chests of drawers. The bathroom is just inside the door and a thin mirror stretches the length of the wall opposite the beds. A flat screen TV is positioned in the far corner.

"We got a balcony!" Payson grins, hurrying past the beds to slide open the french window. Rio's heat hits her as she steps outside to gaze at the surrounding vista.

"Nothing gets past you does it, Keeler." Preoccupied with her suitcase, Kelly is ignoring the churning mass of city and ocean noise flowing through the open door.

Payson turns to rebuke her blase attitude - the view is incredible - but stoppers the censure when she sees Kelly pull her good luck teddy bear from a zipper pocket with a careful reverence that would suggest the animal were alive.

"Have you named him yet?" Payson feels a wash of affection for her mother's insight in selecting the gift.

"Her," Kelly corrects, propping the teddy against the reading lamp on the shared bedside table.

"Sorry, have you named _her_ yet?" Payson leans back against the balcony barrier and cranes her neck. The rest of the hotel tower stretches high above them into the clear sky.

"Bear," Kelly states, as if Payson has a shortage of brain cells for needing to ask.

"Bear, of course," Payson rolls her eyes as she switches to looking down. The aqua perfection of three swimming pools glint in the late afternoon sunshine. There are gleaming white patios boasting sunloungers and cabanas, palm tree flanked bars laden with glass bottles of every colour, and two separate sets of steps leading down to the hotel's private section of beach.

Never a fan of having to wear shoes, Payson kicks off her sneakers and socks and scrunches her toes against the hot balcony tiles, imagining she is paddling in the surf, the Atlantic ocean washing over her skin.

"So I was thinking," Kelly announces, coming to stand beside Payson, finally deigning to look at the view. "Only one of us really needs to go on Darby's 'let's squeal over every inanimate object in the building' tour, right?"

"One of us meaning me?" Payson side-eyes her friend.

"See," Kelly beams, "you're not as dumb as your hair colour suggests."

"You do realise we're thirteen stories up? And I could make it look like an accident?"

"You really want to tell lover boy that you killed his team's only world champion?"

"Do not call him that ever again," Payson hisses, head darting to all sides to check the adjacent balconies are empty, even though Kelly's words are immediately lost to the white noise of a bustling Rio de Janeiro.

"I won't," Kelly shows a full row of white teeth to her friend, "as long as you go on the hotel tour and let me copy your notes."

Payson is about to tell Kelly the exact spot she intends to aim for when pitching the defending all-around champion off this very high balcony, when she spots that Kelly too has shed socks and shoes. And that her left ankle is visibly swollen.

"Fine," she growls, pretending she's still annoyed, pretending she hasn't realised the true reason behind Kelly's reluctance to walk around this very large hotel.


	27. Chapter 27

**CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN**

An illuminated ribbon of light hugs the curved beach, a neon spectacle against an oil-black tide. Rio after sunset dazzles with night defying colours and Payson finds her eyes straying from the ever moving stream of shining traffic to the steady dark of the ocean's horizon.

"Nice PJs," Kelly smirks, when Payson finally retreats back into the room, pulling the french window shut behind her.

It's after curfew and Kelly is sprawled on the bed, studying the hotel map Payson bought back, Darby's swirly handwriting highlighting relevant areas. Payson ignores the comment as she fetches a water bottle from the small fridge and sits down at the dressing table she's claimed as hers, putting her back to Kelly.

"Going somewhere are we?" Kelly inquires again, eyeing Payson's reflection.

"Don't know what you're talking about," Payson says, running a brush through her freshly washed hair.

"Of course you don't," Kelly allows. "I mean, you always wear cheerleading shorts and a belly shirt to bed. It's totally someone else I'm thinking about who usually wears pyjamas that the Amish would consider dowdy."

"It's hot," Payson replies, her cheeks reddening. The shorts were a gift from Becca and have Kennedy High stamped on the butt. She's had the t-shirt since she was a kid; once it ran mid-thigh, now it ends mid-torso.

"Yeah this air-conditioned room is sweltering," Kelly chuckles outright, "or did you mean the other kind of _hot_?"

"Stop talking."

Kelly continues to laugh. "Payson Keeler, totally planning to violate the honor code; who'd have thought it."

Payson drops the brush on the table top hard enough for it to bounce.

"Oh, go see him already," Kelly takes pity on her friend, "I'll cover for you."

Payson puts her hands over her face and groans. "What am I doing?" She stands up and starts pacing. "I mean, it's Worlds! I'm at _Worlds_! I should be a hundred percent about gymnastics and nothing else. I should be meditating or checking call times or having an early night, not planning to sneak out to a guy's hotel room and spending twenty minutes figuring out what to wear when I do! Oh God," Payson's face runs pale, "I've turned into Lauren, haven't I?!" With another groan, she flops face first onto her bed.

"I see no braids, no fake tan, no wonder bra: you are _not_ Lauren," Kelly reassures, stepping across the narrow gully between her bed and Payson's to sit down. "So you want to go see the guy you love. What's so bad about that?"

Payson stops suffocating herself with a pillow. "What? No jokes about making sure I take a pack of condoms with me?"

"A whole pack? Wow, Pay, you are a fast learner," Kelly jokes, then nudges Payson's leg. "I'm kidding. Look," she flops down on the mattress beside Payson, "I know the whole love thing freaks you out, and I bet Sasha's a big English scone of guilt about everything, but you're doing nothing wrong, ok? Listen to an outside perspective."

"I'm pretty sure most outside perspectives would think we're doing a lot wrong," Payson says, quietly.

"Did you not hear me on the plane? Most people are stupid; who gives a crap what they think."

"I should only give a crap what you think?" Payson says, mouth quirking up at one side.

Kelly grins and taps Payson's forehead. "Now you're getting it."

The girls lie in silence for a moment.

"But the outfit is for lover boy's sake, isn't it?" Kelly says, with a wicked grin.

Cheeks flushing red, Payson squashes her face back into the pillow.

* * *

Alert for any movement, bare feet silent against the carpet, Payson pads along the corridor. At Kelly's suggestion, she has an ice bucket in her hand, which is apparently a tried and tested excuse for being caught out of your room after curfew. Pausing at the corridor intersection, she peers round the corner, hoping she doesn't have to test her pitiful lying capabilities on Marcus Collins. Luckily, there is no one in sight.

Room 1307 faces the elevator and is in plain sight of all the rooms along the short hallway between. Payson knocks twice.

"Hang on!"

Payson bounces up and down on her toes, praying Lauren hasn't decided now would be a great time to go visit Max.

"Payson?"

Not waiting for an invitation, Payson darts into the room.

"No one saw me," she says, heart thumping. "I..." Payson stops talking as she turns round to look at Sasha, who's standing by the closed door watching her. Suddenly, her heart is thumping for an entirely different reason.

"Did I get you out of the shower?" she says, slowly, eyes taking on a life of their own.

"What gave it away?"

"Oh, you know," Payson tries to think of a humorous comment and fails, "stuff."

Sasha is shirtless and barefoot, his only clothing a pair of grey sweatpants slung very low on his hips. Water drips down his chest, spattering the large splotches of bruises. His forearm cast is covered in clingfilm.

"I should," Sasha says, gesturing to the bathroom, at the same time Payson points at his cast and says, "do you want me to help you with that?" Their joint chuckle is awkward.

Payson glances round the room. Sasha's suitcase sits on the floor, clothes spilling everywhere, and his bed sheets are rumpled from where he's been laying down. "Should I go?" she says, quietly.

"It's ok." Sasha takes a breath and scratches his hair, attempting a smile. "Just let me grab a towel." He disappears into the bathroom and Payson considers bolting back to her own room so she can die of humiliation in private.

"Would you like a drink?" Sasha asks, as he re-enters the main room, towel slung round his shoulders. He doesn't look at her, instead making a beeline for his suitcase to grab a zip up hoodie.

"I'm good," Payson replies, picking at the handle of the ice bucket, not knowing whether to sit down. When Sasha winces as he pulls on one sleeve of the hoodie, it at least gives her something to do.

"Here, let me help." She puts the bucket on the dresser and tries not to look at Sasha's bare chest as she peels the protective clingfilm off his cast; tries not to notice the roughness of his skin as she helps him ease the other arm through the sleeve.

"Thanks," Sasha says, a little tightly, as he zips up the hoodie.

They stand in front of each other for a moment.

"Weirdly, this was less awkward when you were sleeping in my bed," Payson tries to joke, "and that is so not what I meant to say." She directs her embarrassment-flared eyes to the carpet and almost groans as she sees how much bare leg her tiny shorts actually display.

"No, I know what you mean," Sasha says. He speedily redirects his eyes every time they glance at her, but he seems helpless to stop them creeping back. _I guess that means the outfit worked_ , Payson thinks.

"Are you all settled in?" Sasha tries for normalcy.

"Kinda?" It's not exactly a certain answer.

"Payson."

"It's fine, i'm fine," she says hurriedly, "it's just…" she bites her lip.

"It's just what?" Sasha encourages.

Payson tucks her hair behind her ears, exasperated at herself. "I'm just finding it so hard to _focus_. I mean, whenever I've been to a competition before, everything was automatically about gymnastics; it wasn't even something I had to make myself do, the focus was just there."

"And now?" Sasha's towelling dry what's left of his hair.

Payson picks at the fraying hem of her belly shirt. "Now there's just so much else in my head all the time." She starts to pace. "And it's not you. Okay, some of it's about you, but it's not just you. I'm worrying about my parents and the stuff MJ needs me to do. Austin wants me to talk to Kaylie, and Drea's acting strange, and I know Kelly's ankle is worse than she's letting on. And, Sasha, look at what I'm wearing?!"

"Might be better if I don't," Sasha clears his throat, eyes betraying him again as they glance at her low slung shorts and bare abs.

"I'm in your hotel room after curfew, after all the times I've yelled at Kaylie and Lauren for letting relationships interfere with the sport. Sasha, how am I supposed to perform, let alone medal, if I can't focus on my gymnastics?" Out of breath, Payson sags onto the edge of the bed, chin in her hands.

"Payson," Sasha frowns slightly, not understanding the entirety of her outburst but catching on to its general meaning. "Why do you think so many gymnasts who are champions at age ten, eleven, never make it as seniors?"

Payson shrugs, not looking up. Sasha's shadow falls over her.

"When you're young, it's easy to stay on track, to keep mental distractions at bay; the world hasn't beaten you down yet." He tries to smile as he sits beside her. "But as you get older - and yes, I know it's an old cliche - life gets in the way. For any senior athlete, maintaining focus on performance is difficult; for one in a mentally draining sport like gymnastics it's even more of a battle; and for one who has suffered a near career ending - and certainly a career altering - injury, it's nigh on impossible.

"Do not play down what you have already achieved, Payson. Your ability to focus when it counts has been proven time and again, regardless of circumstance. Your focus will be there when it matters, sweetheart, just like we've trained; please don't doubt that."

"You're biased," Payson grumps, though his rare use of an endearment has a smile creeping across her face.

Sasha chuckles and puts an arm round her shoulders, his cast heavy across her back. "Maybe a little bit, but it doesn't make it any less true."

"Pretty cocky for a guy in his PJs, aren't you?" Payson accuses, as she snuggles into his shoulder, feeling the tension of the day, and the awkwardness of their new surroundings, drip away.

Sasha laughs into her hair as he kisses her temple.

* * *

"Don't even pretend like you speak Portuguese," Payson chastises, wrestling the remote out of Sasha's good hand.

"I'm telling you, that girl just found out her fiance is actually her long lost twin brother," Sasha claims, gesturing at the television.

A Brazilian telenovela is flickering across the screen. Sasha's lying on his bed, propped up on pillows; Payson's sitting cross legged next to him, trying to figure out how to change the channel.

"You are so full of it, Belov." Payson wrinkles her nose at him with a grin. He imitates the expression and she dissolves into loud laughter.

"Shhh," Sasha puts a finger on her lips. "Marty's right next door."

Payson kisses Sasha's fingerprint then pulls away. "Like he hasn't already hooked up with one of the maids."

Sasha tips his head back and forth. "Fair point."

"So, we're really watching this?" Payson drops down next to Sasha, curling into the arm he slips around her and propping her head on his shoulder. She snuggles in further when his cool hand splays across her bare lower back.

"Let's see our other options." He takes the remote back and starts flicking through channels, his cast banging against the plastic TV controller each time he presses a button. "Brilliant," he says after a few changes, "football."

"Soccer," Payson corrects.

"We invented the game, we get to name it," Sasha says, squinting to see the score at the top of the screen.

"Loser," Payson sighs.

The reflected green of the pitch tints the dark room.

"How's your face?" Payson asks, blinking lazily.

"Did you not hear Lauren earlier? It's gross and scabby."

"Apart from that."

While the gymnasts had been touring the hotel, Dr Jake had been removing stitches from the cuts on Sasha's forehead and cheek, and replacing them with butterfly sutures.

"Getting there I think. Jake's going to take the stitches out of this one tomorrow or the day after." Sasha taps at the longest cut that bisects from ear to chin. Since it runs over his jawline, every word he says strains the stitches a little, meaning it isn't healing as fast as the others.

"Of course the good thing is I don't have to worry about buying a Halloween mask this year. Shoot, you moron!" Sasha rolls his eyes when a striker lets the ball run for a corner.

Payson twists to look at his profile. From this angle, she can't see the damage on the other side. "Does Dr Jake think it'll scar?"

Sasha glances down at her, drops a kiss on her forehead. "Chicks dig scars, right?"

Payson laughs into his shoulder. "That is the worst line ever."

"It's a quote," Sasha defends, smiling at Payson's amusement. "The Replacements?"

Payson looks at him blankly.

"We have to work on your movie education when we get home."

"Sounds good to me." She doesn't push further about the potential permanent damage.

The Portuguese football commentators are a soothing background hum. Payson burrows her face into the pillow.

"Tell me that clock is wrong." She pouts against the cotton.

"'Fraid not," Sasha says, understanding her mumble. "You should go get some sleep."

Tiredness making her clingy, Payson scrunches her nose and peers up from the pillow. "Can't I sleep here?"

Sasha puts his cheek on her forehead; Payson feels his smile. "Probably not the best idea."

"Fine," Payson sighs dramatically, sitting up, loose hair waterfalling over her shoulders. "What?" she says, with a shy smile at the expression on Sasha's face.

"Nothing," he murmurs, suddenly intense, and turns away to ease his body off the bed.

"You don't have to get up," Payson says, jumping to the carpet and skipping round to his side.

"No problem." Sasha heaves himself to standing. "It's all good." He sounds like a smoker with a missing lung.

"Uh huh." Payson gives him her best 'don't even try' face.

"Shut up." He grins down at her.

"Make me," she says, playfully, loosely gripping the sides of his hoodie, her brain too dopey to be reserved.

The strength of his kiss comes as a surprise, the need in his grip. Medicated and exhausted, Sasha's boundaries are slipping. Payson pulls her lips away with an exaggerated smack, making it playful. She won't take advantage of Sasha in this condition, no matter how tempting it is to push into his arms, forget their fears, and let instinct take over.

"You taken your pills?" Payson asks, fiddling with the drawstrings on his hoodie.

"Yes, Captain Keeler, ma'am." Sasha snaps off a salute, though his wink makes it less than deferential.

Pushing up to her toes, Payson slips her arms round his neck. She means it to be a quick hug but finds herself suddenly tightening her hold as a commercial on the TV explodes reflected fire through the room.

"Do you remember the sound of that car hitting us?" she murmurs, thinking of the explosion of metal and lights and screams in the dark. They've not really talked about the crash since the night Sasha got out of the hospital. "I try not to but…I've dreamt about it. Your blood is everywhere and there's nothing I can do…"

Sasha cups the back of Payson's head with his good hand, anchors her waist to his body with his casted arm. The flickering of the TV in the dark is tricking him too, carrying him back.

"When I saw the lights coming at the window, just before it hit, all I thought was: I offered to drive and if you hadn't argued with me, you'd have been in the passenger seat." Sasha flinches at the memory of that roaring, bone breaking crash.

"I'm ok." Payson's breath washes over Sasha's broken skin as she clings to him, trying to convince them both. "We're ok."

Sasha's shoulders hitch with repressed rage. "That bastard could have killed you." Despite the pain rushing through his torso, he won't let her go.

"He didn't."

They're six thousand miles and six days away and yet, beyond the hotel room's windows, they can both still feel the shadow of that oncoming car.


	28. Chapter 28

**CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT**

The liquid calm of dream state shatters but it's not Payson's usual alarm of nonsensical electronic bells that's chirping next to her ear.

"Payson! Payson whatever-your-middle-name-is Keeler, wake the hell up already!"

"Kelly?" Payson's long lashes blink slowly.

"No, it's Santa Claus." Wrist gripped by the same sarcasm, Payson's pulled from beneath warm sheets. Feet stumbling, free hand straightening her night fumbled clothes, she's dragged from bed to door.

"What time is it?" Heel of her palm scrubs into one eye then the other, stinging the almost healed bruise.

"Seven, almost."

"What's wrong?" Payson mumbles as Kelly pulls her out into the bright corridor. Lauren and Hayley's door is already open.

"We think it's about Drea," Lauren answers. She and Hayley are hovering in the hallway, bare foot, still in their night clothes too.

"What's about Drea?" Adrenaline snaps Payson fully conscious, just as she hears voices coming from around the corner; loud voices; angry voices.

"Don't tell me I can't see my own daughter!"

"She keeps yelling that," Hayley whispers.

"Is that Coach Conway?" Payson asks, already jogging toward the commotion.

"Yeah, and she's not arguing with herself, so slow down a minute," Kelly hisses, grabbing a handful of Payson's belly shirt and yanking her back before she can turn the corner. Payson stumbles to a stop and the four girls wait at the intersection for someone else to speak.

"If we could all just take a moment and keep calm. Let's go talk in my room..." Marcus sounds nothing like his usual icicle self.

"I am not going to 'keep calm' while my daughter's reputation is destroyed!"

"Definitely about Drea," Lauren whispers. Hayley nods in agreement. Kelly just listens.

"As I have said," Marcus continues, "standard procedure was followed and her sample was tested twice; I'm sorry, but it was positive on both occasions."

Carefully, Payson edges her head round the corner wall so one eye can view the confrontation. Toward the end of the long hall, Marcus and Coach Conway are standing in front of each other. Sasha's with them, as well as...

"Hell, not again." Payson snaps her head out of view, lets it fall back against the wall with a thud.

"What? What'd you see?" Kelly insists, shaking Payson's forearm.

"The bitch is back," Payson says, eyes closed.

"What bitch?" Lauren presses, while Kelly's face runs pale.

"Oh, you have got to be..." Casting aside any attempts at subterfuge, Kelly marches round the corner. The others follow: Lauren and Hayley wanting to know who Payson's talking about; Payson fearing she may have to hold Kelly back.

The bright hallway on this side is interrupted by rectangles of black where room doors stand open.

"We need to take this somewhere else," Sasha is saying. He's standing next to Marcus and spots the quartet of gymnasts as soon as they appear.

"You need to stay out of this," Conway snaps.

Marcus, Sasha, and Conway are all in their night clothes; only Ellen Beals wears her ordinary tracksuit.

"Oh shit," Hayley murmurs. She ducks behind Payson's back. Lauren is too shocked to react.

"I realise this is a very difficult situation but having this discussion in public will not help Drea," Sasha persists. He subtlety alerts Marcus to the girls' presence and the NGO man tenses further.

"Like you ever gave a damn about helping my daughter," Conway accuses. The finger she pushes into Sasha's shoulder is nothing, just a physical punctuation of her anger, but Sasha can't help but take a step back in pain.

Payson is halfway down the hall, fists clenched, before Kelly can grab hold of her top again and restrain her.

"Should have brought Phoebe's leash," Kelly hisses, rubbing Payson's wrist briefly in comfort.

"Ok, that's enough." Marty has appeared from somewhere, has backed Sasha up a couple of paces, his hands out in a gesture of forced truce between the two coaches.

"Good morning, girls," Ellen says, slickly professional. She makes no pretence of any pleasure at seeing them. "This is a private matter; please return to your rooms until one of us comes to fetch you."

"If this is about Drea, we need to know," Payson says, working hard to remain calm and not let her utter contempt for this woman show.

There's a second's stillness - the pause in an inexplicable storm - as Ellen glares at the members of Team USA, some of whom wouldn't even be in Rio if she was still head coach. Marcus, the fulcrum in the centre of the corridor, opens his mouth to speak, but pauses as his eyes grow wide. He's seen something behind Payson and the others.

Drowning in an oversized Team USA t-shirt, Drea tip-toes her bare feet round the corner and into the light. Kelly and Payson drift to one side of the hall, Hayley and Lauren to the other, leaving an empty path for the small girl. Her long blond curls fall over her face; her wide blue eyes are scared but tinged with certainty. _She knows what this is about,_ Payson realises.

"Mom?"

Mother and daughter have the same hair type, though Louise Conway long ago cut her curls as short as possible. "Tell me it's not true." The murmur of the desperate, the broken-hearted, Conway takes a step toward her daughter. Tension crackles the air.

Drea is shaking like a bird born too late in the year to survive the cold. "I'm sorry," she mouths, not strong enough to push volume into the confirmation.

Her words are lightning before the thunder and Payson is the only one who anticipates correctly the length of respite, protective instinct diverting to the body not as scarred but perhaps just as broken as Sasha's. She's already standing in front of Drea when Coach Conway explodes.

"How could you do this?!" Fury bursts forth. Conway flies down the corridor toward them, seeing nothing but the small, drug poisoned girl Payson is shielding. Payson braces herself for contact, grits her teeth like she does when she hits the vault table.

"After everything! After everything I've done for you!" An arm lurches round Conway's waist, dragging her back, preventing her flailing arms from connecting with Payson, or Kelly, Lauren and Hayley, who are now standing beside their teammate.

"Louise! Get a hold of yourself!" Marty yells, his counterpart's strength almost too much for him to control.

Sasha is in front of his gymnasts with more speed than is wise considering his condition. His good hand goes behind him, finds Payson's waist and holds fast, stops her forcing her way back in front to try and protect him too.

Marty manages to drag Conway back a few feet but he can do nothing about her screamed accusations at Drea.

"You stupid fucking bitch!"

A hand catches Conway's thrashing right arm and holds tight.

"If you don't calm down right now, I will have every lawyer at the NGO's disposal drafting papers to have Drea legally placed in our care. The only way you'll be able to see her is through a plastic screen." Sharp, efficient, restrained, Marcus doesn't raise his voice above its usual volume, but it's enough of a threat to bring Conway back to herself. She freezes in place. Her meltdown has dislodged her bathrobe from one shoulder, revealed a slice of green pyjamas underneath. Marty warily withdraws his arm and steps away.

Stillness again. A mausoleum of horrified faces lining a nondescript corridor. Payson's heart is thumping like that of a petrified mouse. She frowns. It's not her heart. Only then does she realise she has Drea wrapped in a hug, the tiny girl quaking in her arms. She stares down the mother willing to attack her own child.

"Get. Out." Payson doesn't mean to speak, but the growl comes anyway, trickles through the stunned silence.

The coach's eyes flare as the order connects. "Excuse me," she spits, her scorn blinding, "if I don't take instruction from the harlot who fucked her way onto the national team."

Silence again and then Marty is grabbing Conway by the wrist. "You need to leave, now," he spits, as Conway wrenches her arm free, throws a look at Ellen Beals, then marches into her hotel room and slams the door, hard enough to nearly break the hinges.

"Come on, sweetie, it's ok." Suddenly Darby is beside Payson, trying to unfold Drea from her arms. "It's ok," she switches to reassuring Payson, who won't let Drea go. "I'm just going to take her to my room."

Payson, still stunned, strokes Drea's hair one more time before releasing her. She watches Darby usher Drea into the room a few doors away from Conway's.

Strong fingers press on her bare waist. "Pay?" Sasha's voice matches the intensity of his grip.

"What the hell is going on?" She looks up at Sasha, only then realising she's crying, though whether from anger or shock she hasn't time to comprehend.

"Coach Belov?" Marcus, running a hand through his hair as he tries to get a hold of this spiralling situation, looks over at Sasha. "Can you take the girls back to their rooms? Explain? It'll probably be best coming from you." It's the most sensitive thing Marcus has ever said concerning these gymnasts and their worry multiplies.

Sasha nods and starts to usher the girls back to their side of the corridor, focus still landing mostly on Payson. As she turns, Payson sees Ellen lean in to say something to Marcus.

"Yes, probably right," Marcus mutters, then raises his voice. "Perhaps you could also have a word with them about wearing suitable attire outside of their rooms?"

Payson thinks she must have misheard; they can't possibly be clamping down on dress code right now.

"They're night clothes!" Lauren finds her voice again, though it's hollow and she keeps glancing at Darby's door. "What? You want us to sleep in moo-moos?" She gestures at her own pale pink short slip and Kelly's vest and basketball jersey combo.

"Come on," Sasha gently pushes Lauren along. Payson is the only gymnast who sees the expression of frustration he glares back at the NGO reps.

"Tested positive, that's what Marcus said, right?" Kelly demands, as soon as the five of them are outside her and Payson's room. "Tested positive for what?"

Sasha's eyes close. Standing directly under one of corridor's spotlights, his cuts seem to glow red. "Cocaine."

"No way," Lauren breathes.

"Holy hell," Kelly mutters at the same time.

"Um, guys?" Hayley tugs at Payson. It takes Payson a few moments to register and respond.

"What?"

Hayley just points over to the open door next to her and Lauren's room. In the shadows, a checked nightshirt falling to her knees, Beth is clutching her Yankee baseball cap and shifting her weight slowly back and forth between her feet.

"Where's Drea?" She asks, bewildered, as she shuffles toward her teammates and coach, still strangling her hat.

The girls exchange glances; Sasha sighs so deep it hurts Payson. "She's with Darby. There's been..."

"I got this, Coach," Kelly intervenes, taking some pressure off Sasha, slinging an arm round Beth and leading her through the open door. Lauren and Hayley follow behind, shocked into compliance to any authority.

Payson and Sasha stand alone. An elevator bell dings. Apart from that the corridor is silent.

"Why is Ellen Beals here?" Payson murmurs, weaving her fingers through Sasha's and looking up at him. His eyes are glazed with the residue of medication and he strokes his thumb along Payson's palm as she grips tighter with worry for him.

"The NGO put her on a plane last night when they got the news from the lab."

"But cocaine? How? Why..." Suddenly, Drea's pained face pops into Payson's mind. "She wanted to talk to me." Horror runs through her. She turns to Sasha in panic. "Sasha, she wanted to..."

"Rebel?"

MJ is clad in sweatpants and vest instead of her usual smart attire. She's frowning as she walks toward them.

"Is it out?" Sasha says, not bothering with a greeting.

"Hit the wires about fifteen minutes ago. The lobby's already piling up with journalists." She watches the way Payson is holding Sasha's hand, how close they are standing. "We need to make a plan," she says, carefully, glance flicking between her client and the coach as they sharply pull apart.

"Yeah," Sasha agrees, scrubbing his short hair. "Payson, can you..."

"We'll look after Beth," Payson fills in, shooting MJ a strained smile and deliberately not looking at Sasha. She pushes her room door shut behind her.

MJ's arms are folded as Sasha finally looks at her.

"Please, please tell me that doesn't mean what I bloody well think it does."


	29. Chapter 29

**CHAPTER TWENTY NINE**

"We have no alternate," Lauren hisses.

"Established that ten minutes ago, _Lo_ ," Kelly pinches between her eyebrows. "Can you please stop saying it."

"We have podium training in three hours and since we're gonna have to cover Drea's events, we've _all_ got to train _everything_ , so _no_ , I don't think I will stop saying it. What the hell were they thinking not bringing any alternates?!"

Lauren, Kelly, and Payson have shut themselves in the bathroom, leaving Hayley and Beth to flip through Brazilian breakfast television they don't understand.

"Who would you have bought?" Payson snaps. She's sitting on the side of the Jacuzzi bath, fingers gripping the edge so tight her nails keep scraping the ceramic.

"Kaylie," Lauren snaps at Payson's reflection. She's yanking her hair into tight braids hard enough to pull strands out at the follicles.

"Oh, why didn't we think of that," Kelly rolls her eyes. "Problem solved. Let's bring in a replacement who hasn't trained in months and, oh yeah, has _quit the sport_."

The conversation she had with Austin yesterday crosses Payson's mind; she's glad she didn't mention to Lauren Kaylie's possible desire to return to gymnastics.

Lauren breaks a hair tie and swears. "And why the hell did they send Ellen freakin' Beals to play messenger?"

"To prove that the situation could, in fact, get worse?" Kelly offers, from her seat on the closed toilet lid. She sighs and drops the sarcasm from her voice. "And you guys had no idea about Drea?"

Lauren shakes her head, digging in Payson's sponge bag for another hair tie. "Still can't believe it."

"Payson?" Kelly frowns a little when Payson doesn't answer.

"She wanted to talk to me." Payson is cold. She keeps seeing Drea's haunted expression at Lauren's party; the desperation in the girl's face the day after the car accident. "She asked to talk to me," she repeats, starting to shiver, "and I kept forgetting."

"Hey," Kelly says slowly, catching on. "This is not your fault, so don't even start guilt tripping yourself." She leans forward. "She's probably been doing it way longer than you've known her. There was nothing you could have done."

 _Can I talk to you?_ Drea had been almost crying when she'd asked Payson for help. "I could have listened." Payson's tone cuts with self-fury. The girl had been crying and Payson had pushed her away. "Why didn't I listen?"

"Look, I get that the coke-head thing is bad." Lauren turns round, fingers twisted in tendon snapping knots as she starts another braid. "But can we play the blame game later. Podium training? No alternate? Less than three hours? Am I talking to myself here?"

"Sensitive as always, Tanner," Kelly sighs.

"Right, because you're so Miss Congeniality," Lauren snaps back.

Fifteen and positive for cocaine; how desperate, how lonely, must Drea really be? Payson can't breathe. She stands, coughs, shakes out her hands until her wrists click. She will not cry. She does not have the right to cry after what she's done.

"Pay, why don't you go get dressed?" Kelly suggests carefully.

Payson glances at her teammates. Why are they looking at her with pity? She deserves censure not empathy.

"Right," Payson nods strongly, but it takes her a full minute to be able to move.

* * *

"Are you sleeping with her?" MJ hisses. She's got Sasha backed up against the wall at the end of the corridor where they're least likely to be overheard.

"No," Sasha snaps back. His head is pounding.

"But I'm guessing that you soon might be?" MJ persists; playing the inquisitor has never been a problem for her.

Cocaine. The kid is fifteen. How the fucking hell did she get her hands on cocaine? How the fucking hell did he not notice she was on _cocaine_?

"Sasha. Hey, Belov!" MJ clicks her fingers in front of his face. "I take it by your complete lack of denial that you and Payson are involved?"

"I do not need a lecture," Sasha says, face empty.

"I'm not exactly in a position to judge considering what we did, am I?" MJ glances around them, as if expecting Nikolai to appear from the shadows and berate her, the sports agent, for corrupting his young gymnast.

What Sasha wouldn't give for that to still be possible.

"Look, MJ, you do not need to tell me how bad I am screwing up here, ok? Believe me, I know." Sasha pauses, scratching at his suture strips until MJ slaps his hand away. "But can we just focus on this morning, please? I've got to get these girls through podium training."

MJ studies him. Those scars have been on his face all of a week and yet she can't immediately recall what he looked like without them. Memory is a cruel creature.

"There you are." Marty announces from the corridor intersection, making both Sasha and MJ jump. "His lord highness wants to see you." He nods at Sasha and then retreats back out of sight.

"Bloody wonderful," Sasha runs a hand over his face and stomps after Marcus' summons, MJ beside him.

Sasha gulped down a couple of vicodin after Ellen banged on his door twenty minutes ago, but, though the pills are keeping pain at bay, they're making him groggy.

"You up to this?" MJ mutters, as they round the corner and approach Marcus' room.

"I'll have to be," Sasha says, stalking through the open door without hesitation.

"Well, Coach Belov, got to say I think you might just have outdone yourself this time." Standing poker straight beside the bed, Ellen displays the snide smile she reserves just for Sasha. "Why go for a drug as traditional as steroids when you can have a gymnast snort coke."

"And why was it the NGO sent you to break the news?" Sasha fires back. "Oh, that's right, because they thought you would be the best one to deal with Louise Conway's temper." He claps twice. "Congratulations. Well handled."

" _Pay_ have a problem hearing what people really think of her, did she?"

"That is enough, both of you!" Marcus barks as he hangs up his cell. "Like we don't have a big enough crisis as it is without you two bickering. Miss Martin?" He catches sight of MJ. "And you're here because?"

MJ isn't one to be put off by passive aggression. She folds her arms and leans leisurely against the closet door. "I'm sorry, am I stepping on the toes of the NGO's PR stooges?" She makes a show of glancing round the room, empty apart from Marcus, Ellen, Sasha, and Marty. "I think not." She raises an eyebrow at Marcus. "If I were you, I wouldn't be turning away free media advice right now."

Marcus glares at her but can't argue the point. "Fine. We have podium training in less than three hours," he announces, like everyone's not already clock watching. "Sasha, where are the girls' heads at with this?"

Sasha opens his mouth but Ellen talks over him.

"I'm sorry, Marcus, but come on! You can't possibly be saying he still has a job? His youngest gymnast just tested positive for a class A street drug!" She belts out her incredulity like a campaigning senator brandishing an obscene photo of her opponent.

"Sorry to butt in, Ellen," MJ says, with no hint of apology in her tone, "but the last thing this team needs now is more uncertainty. It needs to stick to business as usual, hold the line that the gymnasts are obviously stunned and distressed but they are professionals who will not let this news interfere with the job they came here to do. Sasha needs to be beside them and you need to keep your face away from the cameras to nip in the bud any speculation about coaching changes."

Ellen's expression curdles. "Am I right in thinking that you are both a friend of Coach Belov's and a paid representative for Payson Keeler? Excuse me if I don't rely on you to provide an unbiased opinion."

"She's right, Ellen," Marcus says, tapping his chin as he stares out the window at the Rio skyline. "We need to settle the team and that means Sasha staying as coach, for now." No one in the room misses the 'for now' caveat. "Chris and Jules are out bribing whoever they can to extend our training hall slot this afternoon. Ellen, I trust you can persuade Coach Conway to remain in her room for the moment?" Marcus dismissal of the former head coach is blatant.

" _He_ looks like the one on drugs," Ellen jabs her head toward Sasha. "Great photo op, wouldn't you say, MJ?" She smiles a look of hatred at the agent, then stalks out.

Marcus turns his eye on Sasha. "Coach Belov, go clean yourself up." He doesn't do an entirely thorough job of hiding his disgust at the rips in Sasha's face or the slight medication sheen in the coach's eyes. "Then if you could talk to Aundrea? Find out what the hell happened?" His cell phone is against his ear again as he turns away.

Sasha doesn't trust himself to speak and not punch something.

"Will do, boss," Marty intercedes, faking a deferential smile as he steers Sasha out of the room, then glares at MJ to follow.

"Never realised you were so tactful, Martin," MJ says, as soon as she pulls Marcus' door shut.

"Well, one of us has to be. Picking a fight with Ellen Beals today? Not your smartest move Matilda Jane," Marcus shoots back.

"I need to talk to Drea," Sasha sighs, tuning out his colleagues and trying to figure out what he is going to say to the girl.

"Someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?"

"And things just keep getting better..." Marty mutters, before plastering on his fake smile again and turning to meet a stampeding Steve Tanner. "I take it you've heard?"

"The whole damn world's heard!" Steve throws out an arm. "You couldn't have given me a heads up before I had to face those rabid dogs in the lobby? I go for a peaceful cup of coffee and World War Three breaks out!"

Sasha will never have to wonder where Lauren gets her tendency for dramatic exaggeration. "Steve, I can't talk about this right now," he starts.

"Did this happen while she was training at the Rock?" Steve demands, ignoring Sasha's statement.

"The maths is fairly obvious," MJ answers.

"Well, isn't that just fantastic." Steve throws up his arms again as he paces a circle of distress. "So the Rock's current claims to fame are that it houses the coach and gymnast who got in an accident a week before Worlds - the reason they were in a car together when they were supposed to be at an NGO event has still not been fully explained to me, by the way - and now we also have the privilege of a fifteen year old taking cocaine under our roof." Steve shoves his hands on his hips and glares like the three people in front of him have just torched his beloved gym.

"What part of 'I can't talk about this right now' wasn't clear?" Sasha says, through gritted teeth.

Steve glares. "Well, _right now_ , I'm going to go check on my daughter, because I sure as hell don't trust anyone else to do it." With that, he stalks away.

"Didn't he beg you to come back to the Rock, like, a month ago?" Marty says, frowning as Steve disappears round the corner.

"There's nothing more fickle than a stage parent," MJ says, with no small measure of disgust.

Sasha sighs and stares into the spotlight over head until his eyes burn. "I have to talk to Drea."

"And I have a client's reputation to protect, so if you'll both excuse me. We'll talk later." The latter instruction is levelled at Sasha before MJ spins a marine sharp turn about and heads for the elevator.

"She gets more terrifying," Marty observes, though the look on his face as he watches MJ strut away indicates he doesn't find that an entirely off putting trait.

Before Sasha can berate his fellow coach for even considering the notion of repeating history that should very much be left in the last decade, Marty makes a 'stay here' motion and jogs off.

"Didn't get a chance to give these to you yesterday." Marty is in and out of his hotel room at a speed which makes Sasha both jealous and tired. He holds out a non-descript brown paper bag. "Good thing they don't make coaches take a urine test." There's more empathy than venom in the comment but it still brings a fresh wave of shame crashing over Sasha's head.

"Thanks," Sasha mutters, as Marty nods and disappears again into his hotel room, this time shutting the door behind him.

Making sure the corridor is absent of further judging eyes, Sasha checks the contents of the bag he asked Marty to collect from the pharmacy yesterday before they left Colorado. It still surprises him how much easier it is to get extra prescriptions filled in the US than it is back home.

Perhaps it's because MJ mentioned his name earlier, but Sasha imagines for a moment Nikolai's expression if he knew how fast Sasha was tumbling back into old habits.

"Just to get me through the next few days," Sasha justifies, murmuring to an empty hallway.

* * *

After styling her hair in a simple bun and pulling on the pre-selected sleeveless red training leo, Payson is in pike sit stretch. Her muscles feel like lead.

"Listen to this," Kelly says, reading from her laptop. "According to _doublearabian287_ 's latest tweet we are a 'fucking disgrace to America' but it's ok, because _alabama_indigo_ thinks we should get our own reality show. Gotta love the internet."

"Bunch of fat, ugly, no talent, jerks," Lauren snaps. She's been stalking round the room, hands on hips, for the last ten minutes.

Hayley's in their room with her parents, who are staying in a neighbouring hotel and appeared at the door a few minutes ago, ashen faced.

"You know damn well they wouldn't be smacking the boys down for walking the halls in their boxers, right?" Lauren continues her rant against Marcus' reference to their clothes. "And how dare they freakin' say we dress like whores when they're the ones who make us perform in tiny leotards that ride halfway up our butts?"

"I didn't hear him call us whores," Kelly says.

"Oh, you know he and Beals were thinking it. I'll get it," Lauren snaps again, when there's a knock on the door.

Neither Payson nor Kelly has to look up to figure out who is knocking; the explosion of the dual Tanner tempers makes it obvious.

"I can't believe this is happening!"

"I know, sweetie, I can't believe it either."

Kelly climbs off Payson's bed and uses her good foot to kick the door into its frame with a loud bang, cutting off Lauren and Steve's voices.

"And so it starts," she mutters, returning to the eight windows she has open on her screen.

"So what starts?"

"The blame game," Kelly says, clicking violently as new articles pop up. "Team USA gets yanked apart as parents rush in to distance their little darlings from evil Cocaine Conway."

"Don't say that to anyone else," Payson sighs. "It's the kind of nickname that would stick." She flexes her toes to deepen the stretch. "They're going to blame Sasha, aren't they?" she murmurs, quieter.

When Payson looks up, Kelly's already staring at her. Payson's gut clenches. "But it's more my fault than his; I'm the one Drea tried to talk to."

The bathroom door opens with a squeak, giving enough warning for Payson and Kelly to wipe their expressions neutral before Beth comes out.

"I don't think I've done this right."

Payson doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. Beth's clearly attempted to copy Lauren's braids but has only succeeded in turning her stringy brown hair into a mass of ugly knots. "Lauren said she'd help me but..." Beth bites her lip, sadly, "I think she forgot."

Kelly looks at Payson. "Gotta love how that team spirit survives in a crisis," she says coldly, before turning back to Beth. "Come here; I'm no Lo-Lo, but I've tied a few braids in my time."

Beth shuffles over and deposits herself on the floor in front of the bed so Kelly can start carefully unknotting the mess.

Still stretched over her legs, Payson tips her head so she can see the piece of wall where she's pinned up Becca's collage.

* * *

"Hasn't said a word, hasn't even cried," Darby whispers, sniffing.

Yellow blush spills from the bathroom out into the dim room, Darby having decided to close the curtains and turn off the main light. Drea is a tiny lump on the edge of the far bed.

"Poor little thing." Darby's face crumples again and she turns away to grab a fresh tissue. Sasha doesn't blame her; God knows he could cry right now.

"Thanks for sitting with her," Sasha murmurs, attention on the shadowy form of the latest gymnast he's failed to save.

Darby waves away the gratitude. "I'm here as long as she needs. Any word on her family?"

Sasha shakes his head. "Dad's long dead. The NGO is checking out the extended family."

"And Coach Conway?" Darby's barely able to say the name.

"Ellen's with her, I think." Sasha straightens his shoulders, the jab in his ribs for once welcome. "Can you do me a favour and go check on the other girls? I think they're in Payson and Kelly's room."

Darby takes the hint. "Be kind to her," she says, quietly. "Whatever's happened, I don't think it's her fault."

"I know it's not," Sasha whispers, mostly to himself.

Darby pulls the main door shut behind her with a soft click.

"Drea?" With no idea how conscious Drea is, Sasha doesn't want to surprise her. "Drea, are you ok?" He takes the desk chair and places it next to the bed.

Drea is curled in the foetal position on the edge of the mattress. Darby has draped a blanket over her.

"Sorry, stupid question," Sasha says, his voice as low as he can make it. He sits down, props his elbows on his knees, and makes sure to give Drea space.

The floor to ceiling window beside them is shielded with cream curtains, the strengthening morning light dusting through with a glowing halo.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

The girl's face is buried beneath her blonde curls so Sasha can't see her expression, just that she brings her knees up closer to her chest. He waits for five minutes; he'll wait for five hours if that's how long it takes for her to feel safe.

"I wouldn't..." A blonde tendril flickers as Drea tries to speak. She catches it, tucks it behind her ear. Sasha's chest tightens as he is finally able to see Drea's pale face. "The accident...I wouldn't have...I didn't." She cuts off.

"It's ok." Sasha soothes with his voice, not moving.

Another two minutes. A big sniff as Drea scrubs the back of her wrist over her nose. "I thought they'd be someone to take my place," her blue eyes swivel up to look at him. She looks as guilty Sasha feels.

"I would have waited 'til after Worlds, with you and Payson hurt." Her voice trembles on Payson's name. "But it was too late by the time I knew." Her mouth starts to quiver and she presses her face into the mattress.

 _Please say she has some family_ , Sasha thinks, wanting nothing more than to comfort this child but knowing he's not what she needs. He waits, having to wipe water from his own eyes.

"I couldn't think of any other way," she coughs, still curled tightly on her side. She looks at him again, eyes blue and red and soaking. Light catches on her teardrops and her face sparkles like glitter.

"Any other way to what?"

"To make her see." There is the tiniest hint of anger.

Sasha pauses, lets his temper calm. He's starting to understand where this is going. "Make who see?"

The flare almost makes Sasha sit back, the flash of fury that cuts through Drea's eyes.

"I tried to tell her so many times." Drea's teeth are gritted, grinding as she speaks faster, louder. "So many times that I didn't want...that I wanted to stop... but she just...she wouldn't listen. Not now, Aundrea. Don't be a baby, Aundrea. I'm doing this for you, Aundrea. This is what it takes to be a _champion_ , Aundrea." She sits up suddenly, knees curled under her, body taught. Her face is level with Sasha's but he's careful not to move at all. He's not entirely sure Drea is seeing him.

"Practice, practice, practice, say it with me, Aundrea. I'm doing this for you, this is all for _you_ , Aundrea. You'll thank me, Aundrea. When you're champion you'll thank me, Aundrea. One more hour, Aundrea! That's not real pain, just ignore it, Aundrea! Why are you crying for that man, Aundrea, your father didn't care about us!" She stops. She's staring straight past Sasha. Her head twists.

"Why won't she call me Drea?" It's a quiet murmur after the violent impression of her mother. Her head stays tilted but her eyes move and stare so deep into Sasha's his heart hurts.

"Why won't she..." A plea this time as her distraught frustration dissolves. "Why won't she call me _Drea_?!" A keening wail rips from Drea's lungs and Sasha darts forward to catch her, clings as she breaks, as she scrabbles at him, hits him, claws him, buried pain tearing and contracting her body until she has no control.

Tears drip down Sasha's face. The salt water stings on his broken skin. His ribs are bellowing as Drea writhes in emotional agony but he doesn't relinquish his grip. He deserves the pain. Even when Darby appears beside them – God knows Drea is screaming loud enough to wake the whole hotel – and puts her arms out to take over, he doesn't let go, so Darby sits beside them and adds her embrace.

Loitering in the doorway, Sasha sees the outlines of two figures, identifies Kelly's bunches and Beth's height. Payson is a step behind them, bathed in the light of the corridor. Sasha watches the tears pouring from her eyes as Drea falls apart in his arms.


	30. Chapter 30

**CHAPTER THIRTY**

"Wait. So you're saying she _wanted_ to get caught?" The elevator light blinks from thirteen to twelve as Lauren taps her fingers on the support bar.

Drea has sobbed herself into exhaustion. She's sleeping now, Darby watching over her. Sasha's jacket is still wet with her tears. He wishes he could give the girls an hour, god knows witnessing Drea's distress has left them all in shock, but there is simply no time. Bags slung over their shoulders, the team are headed down to the lobby.

"Yes." Sasha sighs, head leaning back against the mirrored panelling. He's explained it twice but he can't grudge having to go over it again. "Her mum wouldn't listen when Drea said she wanted to stop gymnastics. She has no one else in her life she can talk to. I think she just reached breaking point."

"So she deliberately failed a drug test to get her mom's attention?"

"To get her mum to listen to her, yes."

"But why coke? Isn't that kind of random? Wouldn't it have been easier to just shoot some EPO or pop some steroids? It's not like they're difficult to get hold of at a freakin' gym."

Sasha muffles a groan. Lauren's knowledge of the availability of narcotics is not something he wants on his radar right now.

"I guess she wanted it to stand out as unusual, not seem like she was trying to improve her performance."

"Coke improves your performance."

"Lauren!" Kelly bites.

"What?! It's on the damn list of banned substances; it wouldn't be there if it didn't, like, help!" Lauren glares at the elevator doors. "I'm just trying to understand why we have been so well and truly screwed and you're all yelling at me like _I've_ done something wrong. Why couldn't Drea just tell her mom she hated her life and wanted to quit gymnastics?" Lauren and her father have been yelling at each other since the day Lauren learned to talk; she can't comprehend a situation where her voice wouldn't be enough to get her noticed.

"It wasn't that simple," Kelly says, tightly.

Sasha glances at Kelly. He's never met Kelly's mother but imagines she is of Coach Conway's stripe.

Kelly notices Sasha's empathy, and shrugs it off immediately. "It was taken outside of competition – will it even invoke an automatic ban?"

"Technically, it's at the world body's discretion. Cocaine is an in-competition banned substance, and yeah, the test wasn't done _during_ direct competition, but it was immediately prior which could indicate intent. Even if they did let her remain eligible, there's no way in hell she's in any state to leave her room, let alone compete."

"We wouldn't ask her too." Payson speaks for the first time.

"Don't blame yourself," Sasha says quietly, watching the set of Payson's posture, the distance in her eyes. "It was right after the accident, you weren't to know what she wanted to talk about."

Payson doesn't look at him.

"Sasha's right," Lauren checks her makeup in the shiny panels, "and the pee was in the lab by then anyway, what were you going to do? Dig out a black jumpsuit and learn how to pick a lock?"

The elevator light hits two. Payson turns to face the double doors. "She came to me for help and I ignored her."

"It is not your fault," Sasha says, frustration making his voice harsh.

Payson looks back over her shoulder. "Is that what you're telling yourself? That it's not your fault?"

Sasha looks away, a muscle spasm working through his jaw.

"Exactly." Payson steps from the elevator the moment the doors begin to open even though Sasha warned them to wait a few moments in preparation for the glut of journalists they are sure to face on the other side.

"Um," Kelly says, stopping next to Payson's shoulder. "Was there a bomb threat and no one told us?"

Trickling water echoes through the cavernous space and there is movement along the balcony walkways. Other than that, the atrium is oddly deserted.

"This is how every zombie movie starts," Lauren hisses.

As they wait for the other elevator to arrive, MJ appears down one of the winding paths, cell phone to her ear.

"Manager kicked out everyone who wasn't a paying customer," she explains.

"That was convenient," Sasha says, glancing at the falling numbers on the other elevator.

MJ shrugs. "Some of the guests were complaining about the noise."

"Which guests?"

MJ smiles, tapping something into her phone and then pocketing it. "Funny thing, they didn't leave their names." She looks at Sasha. "Bloody hell," she mutters, pulling a tissue from her purse, "like we haven't got enough publicity problems without you bleeding all over the place. Let's not go proving Ellen Beals right."

"What?" Sasha searches for the nearest reflective surface as the other girls look at him and grimace.

"You've pulled your stitches," Payson murmurs, automatically reaching up to cup Sasha's jaw so she can take a closer look at the damage.

"Don't worry, I was a Girl Guide," MJ says, stepping forward, tissue poised to tidy up the mess. Payson finds herself on the other side of Kelly before she even realises she's been a victim of MJ's stealth method of manoeuvring people without their knowledge.

The second elevator dings its arrival and the rest of Team USA spill out, curiosity sweeping over their faces as the tumult of activity they were expecting doesn't materialise.

"Maybe I should start praying more often," Jules comments.

"I think making a deal with the devil had more to do with this miracle," Marty says, narrowing his eyes at MJ who merely raises an eyebrow at him and smirks.

"Not so much a miracle as a delaying of the inevitable," Sasha says, nodding to the small area of main door that's visible amidst the fountains and foliage. A flurry of bodies is waiting beyond the frosted glass.

Everyone follows his line of sight, apart from MJ, who is too busy watching how Payson eases Sasha's hand away when he absentmindedly goes to scratch his stitches, squeezing his fingers gently before letting go, and how neither of them seem to realise how such intimate behaviour could be construed.

"Minibus here yet?" MJ bites.

Marty jogs a little along one pathway to get a better view. "We're good to go," he calls back.

"Right," Sasha claps once, "girls, remember..." But only four of his team are round him. "Where's Beth?"

Chris spots her first and hurriedly jogs round the nearest clump of palm trees. "Oh no, you don't." He darts a hand out and grabs the back of Beth's jacket, stopping her leaning further over the fountain and falling in.

"I was just seeing if I could spot the dime I threw in yesterday," Beth says.

"How about we just assume it's still in there," Chris compromises, giving his colleagues a raised eyebrow as he leads Beth back to the rest of the group.

Sasha continues. "Remember what we said, do not under any circumstances say a word out there. Not even a 'no comment'. Just keep your heads down and walk to the van. Got it?"

"Yes, Coach."

Sasha exchanges looks with his colleagues, waiting to get the all clear from them too. They all nod.

"Let's get this show on the road." He takes a big breath and starts walking down the curved path, the girls lining up in a row behind him. Marty follows at the back, while Chris and Jules flank either side.

They filter through the revolving doors and peace of the atrium shatters.

"Coach Belov! How will this latest loss affect the team?!"

"Did you have any idea Aundrea Conway was using drugs?!"

Some of the questions are shouted loud enough for individual words to register, but most are lost in the rumbling roar of dozens of voices yelling at once. Cameras and microphones are shoved in from all directions as Sasha forces a route through the throng of reporters clambering over one another to get close to the stars of this latest scandal.

"Who else is on drugs?!"

"Are any of you pregnant?!"

Payson glares at Sasha's back, locks her attention on the red v stripe pattern and tries to turn her ears deaf.

Ten wide stairs down to the sidewalk, another five feet to the van. The driver has the door open. Funnelled together as the team approaches the van, the press of journalists gets worse. Jules puts a protective arm around Beth and forces her forward when, jostled and prodded on all sides, the girl just stops.

Sasha uses all his weight to hold back the paparazzi directly behind him and allow the girls a free path to climb into the mini-bus. In the melee, no one hears his laboured breathing as pain threatens to overpower. The team and staff safe inside, Sasha hauls himself into the last seat and slams the door shut. Cameras flash against the windows. The holler of questions sounds like a thunderstorm beating on the van's bodywork.

"Now I know how the Bieber feels," Hayley pants, twisting in the back seat to look at the crowd as the van pulls away and nearly runs over a particularly foolish photographer. "I used to have a crush on him, but then I was like, that's kind of weird. It's kind of weird to have a crush on a guy you could bench-press, right?" The rushed sentences sound like one long word.

"What?" Lauren snaps. She's also shoved in the back seat, eyes wide.

"I'm sorry," Hayley flaps her hands, "I babble when I'm nervous."

"Well, stop it."

"Let her babble if she wants to." Kelly rubs at her temples.

"I'm trying to focus, and her babbling? So not helping." Lauren slams herself back in the seat and folds her arms.

"Well, it might help her."

"Since when the hell do you care about helping other people?"

"Way to promote that team spirit you've been shoving down our throats for the past month, _Lo-Lo_. I braided Beth's hair _bee-tee-dub_ , thanks for asking."

"Quiet!" Sasha's deep bellow cuts Lauren off before she can fire back an insult. "Thank you," he snaps as the van falls silent, the putt-putt of the turning signal now the only sound audible as they sit at a set of stop lights.

"She started it," is murmured from somewhere.

"Quiet!"

* * *

Arena Olímpica do Rio is situated in Barra da Tijuca which lies in the western zone of Rio de Janeiro. A modern arena - only completed in 2007 according to Payson's research - it can seat up to fifteen thousand and will stage the gymnastics competition of the 31st Olympiad.

 _2016_ , Payson thinks, as she turns slowly and takes in a panoramic view of the massive arena, _I could be a defending champion._

Multiple tiers of seats wrap each wall, looking down on the rectangular floor where, as in all competitive gymnastics meets, the equipment is mounted on raised platforms slotted together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Narrow gullies run between the platforms and around the outer edge of the floor, where rivers of cables are carefully hidden by green carpet. A massive cube of TV screens is located amidst the lighting rigs at the centre of the ceiling, hanging just below the rows of flags representing the participating eighty three countries.

"Romy Beck's looking pretty good," Hayley whispers, watching as the German throws a clean standing Arabian.

"Why are you whispering?" Jules asks.

Hayley glances round at the looming seats. "It's all echoy in here."

The German team are just finishing up on beam as Team USA dump their bags on the chairs next to the uneven bars podium and wait in respectful silence for their turn to practice. Since they have been allocated bars for their first rotation in the qualification round, that's where they'll begin podium training, a session Payson sometimes refers to as a dress rehearsal.

"There are cameras here," Lauren hisses at Payson, face flaring with anxiety.

"There are always cameras at podium training. You know that." Payson strips off her white pants and training jacket.

"I _know_ I know that," Lauren snaps, "but, today? We both _know_ they're gonna be waiting for one of us to fuck up."

"They're always waiting for one of us to fuck up," Payson says, coldly.

The statement is a little uncharitable - many of those who attend podium training are true enthusiasts who either couldn't get or couldn't afford tickets to the main competition - but Payson has no doubt that many of those sitting in the media section, fingers poised over laptops, are hoping to boost readership with lurid reports about a shell-shocked Team USA falling from every apparatus.

"Wow, way to inspire, Captain Keeler." With a huff of derision, Lauren storms off, almost knocking Beth to the ground when the younger girl wanders into her path without noticing the oncoming freight train of frustrated Tanner.

Teeth grinding, Payson tugs on her wrist supports and hand guards, dragging at the velcro strips hard enough to almost cut off her circulation.

"Forget something?" Kelly asks, adjusting her bunches as she walks by.

Payson glares at her friend's retreating back, then realises that Kelly is headed to the main mat to warm up. Which Payson should probably do too unless she wants to tear every muscle in each arm.

The gymnasts are familiar enough with the national team's standard warm up routine to do it from memory, though Chris has to prompt Beth from her index card when she becomes lost after the initial head and wrist rolls done while walking round the mat.

"Okay," Sasha announces, when the twenty minute warm up is complete, "Haley, why don't you get us started."

It's a sensible choice for an opener. Even though she wasn't scheduled to do bars, Haley has an ability to put in a solid performance no matter the circumstance. A simple but clean routine will do much more to steady the team than a high scoring one that is littered with nerve-driven mistakes.

"Excellent," Sasha tells her, when she lands her full in dismount, even though her chest is down a little. "Way to step it up."

"One day to go fist bump?" Payson, standing next to Sasha, manages to cut past the flinty edge she released on Lauren. It's only momentary though, shield of anger falling back in place as soon as Hayley has completed the action and jogged away.

"Beth or Kelly next?" Payson murmurs, so only Sasha can hear.

"Beth," Sasha answers, raising his voice to say the young gymnast's name again loud enough for her to hear, then dropping it just as quickly as he leans down to talk to Payson. "Can you check in with Lauren? I don't want her up there if she doesn't calm down."

Payson tips her eyes up to meet his. "I'm not sure I'm the best person to do that right now."

" _I'm_ sure," Sasha says, and she almost hates him for his faith in her.

"And you're okay?" Payson doesn't look at him as she asks, knows his lie will be easier to believe if she only hears it.

"I'm fine."

* * *

Even in a surgically sharp temper, Payson seems to be finding the right words to talk Lauren back off the jittery ledge she's been on all morning. Sasha watches as both gymnasts start in on a series of leg stretches, rather than squaring up for a shouting match or a fist fight which, going by the standard of today, wouldn't surprise him.

He redirects his attention to his clipboard, mentally debating whether he should have Kelly do her double layout dismount or ask her to throw the single, and getting tangled up with frustration over her and Marty's continued reluctance to be honest with him about the state of her ankle.

"Beth!"

The panicked shout rings through the arena, pinging off every exposed surface. Sasha jerks his head up with vertebrae clicking haste just in time to see Chris dart to catch Beth as she plummets from the top bar.

Quick strides carry Sasha past the supporting wires to where Chris is placing Beth back on her feet, hand on her cheek, trying to get her to look at him. "Hey, lil' un, what was that, huh?"

"What happened?" Sasha demands.

"She didn't put her arms out to re-catch her Jaeger," Chris stammers. "She just dropped like a stone."

"I forgot," Beth finally speaks, absentmindedly reaching out and tracing the progress of a dust mite as it meanders midair.

Sasha and Chris exchange looks, both men at a loss.

"Beth, why don't you come with me," Sasha recovers himself first and gently guides Beth away. He eases down from the platform as Beth simply jumps.

Some folded chairs are set up by one of the sponsorship barriers. Sasha leads them there and they sit side by side, Beth kicking her feet up and down, unfazed by the serious injury she just narrowly avoided.

"You know we have an expression for stuff like this in England," Sasha says, hoping to snag Beth's curiosity. Her head tips in his direction which he takes to mean she's listening. "We say 'It's all going a bit pear shaped'."

That has her turning her face to him. "A bit pear shaped?"

"Yup. When everything starts to go wrong, we say 'it's all going a bit pear shaped'."

"Why? Don't British people like pears or something?"

"I personally have no problem with pears, but I guess whoever made up the phrase really didn't like them."

Beth kicks her feet again, thinking. "I like pears but I don't like oranges. Can I say it's all going a bit orange shaped?" She looks at Sasha like he has the authority of the Oxford English Dictionary.

"I don't see why not," Sasha says, peripheral vision identifying the moment Payson takes to the lower bar.

"Cool," Beth says. They're quiet for a bit longer. When Beth next speaks, her voice is fainter yet somehow clearer than Sasha has ever heard from the girl. "You know, Drea can be really funny."

Sasha waits, then prompts with a "yeah?" when Beth looks like she needs encouragement.

"Do you know the movie Stick It?"

Sasha shakes his head.

"When we roomed together at gymnastics camp, we'd watch it all the time. We knew the whole script and say lines to each other during training and everyone thought we were so weird 'cause we laughed so loud." Beth is staring at the bars but not watching Payson spin through the air.

"I've never heard you guys do that at the Rock."

Beth shrugs. "I tried. See, I say 'call me' and she's supposed to say 'stalk you'. But I hadn't seen her in a while and when I said 'call me' that first day at the Rock, she wouldn't even look at me. I thought she didn't like me anymore." Beth looks at her hands, picking at her bitten down nails. "But do you think...do you think it might really be because she was so sad about everything?"

Sasha closes his eyes. These girls were crying out for help and he didn't even notice. "I think so," he agrees gently, leaning forward, elbows on knees so he can look back at Beth.

"Was that?" Beth bites her lip. "Friends are supposed to notice stuff like that, aren't they?" She looks at the floor. "I know I'm not good at noticing stuff. Not the important stuff."

"None of us noticed," Sasha reassures. "It's not your fault, Beth."

She chews the inside of her cheek.

"I didn't realise you were such good friends," Sasha comments.

"I met her when we were seven. We nearly have the same birthday."

 _Of course you do_ , Sasha thinks. The two rising stars of American gymnastics, how did he not realise they would have crossed paths a long time ago? How did he not at least suspect that the distance between them wasn't that of strangers but of friends who had lost their way?

"Drea's going to need her friends now. You think you can help me with that?"

Beth studies his face. She's the only one who looks at his injuries with neutrality. "I can do that."

* * *

It's a rare occasion when Payson is ever completely satisfied with a performance - there's always room for improvement - but today she is disgusted at the mess she just strung together under the misnomer of a 'routine'.

"You won't make those mistakes tomorrow." It's not a warning from Sasha, it's a reassurance.

She glares at the green carpet, folding her toes into it and relishing each crack.

"Also, maybe lay off the swearing a little?" he suggests, as Kelly starts her work on the lower bar.

"I thought you'd be proud that you're teaching me new words."

"I am. Though I'm not entirely sure shouting 'bollocks!' when you take a step on landing will play well with anyone else."

"It was a large step."

Sasha huffs a laugh and Payson, anger at herself abating enough for other thoughts to enter her mind, turns to ask him if Beth is okay.

"What?" He frowns as she simply looks up at him.

"You're bleeding again." She hears the waver in her voice and hates it because Sasha's eyes become even more pain filled.

"I'm fine." He pats the cut on his jaw then swears when he realises he's used his bad arm and put blood on the cast. "Though I really should start carrying tissues."

"You're not fine," Payson mutters, flexing her fingers to stop herself reaching for Sasha's hand.

Sasha's only answer is to grip her shoulder, thumb deliberately making contact with the bare skin of her neck.

"Let's go, Lauren." His voice is tight and Payson suspects that, just like her, it's taking everything Sasha has not to give into the instinct that's demanding they stay close to the other.

As Sasha hops, or rather hauls, his body up onto the bars platform, he passes Kelly, who ignores his "good work".

"Parker," Payson gently catches Kelly's arm but holds firm when her teammate tries to drag it away. "You need to tell him about your ankle."

Kelly freezes. "What do you know about it?" It's her old tone, hard and contemptuous, and Payson is surprised when it doesn't bristle her already prickled temper.

"I know you're hurting," she tightens her hold when Kelly again tries to pull away, "and you need to know that all we want to do is help."

Payson releases her friend's arm, waits for a rush of air to follow Kelly's angry departure, but Kelly doesn't move. Body held tight as a bowstring, Kelly watches her, assessing, waiting. For what, Payson doesn't know because, before anything else is said, both gymnast's attention is captured by movement on the platform.

In her first change from bottom to top bar, Lauren's legs, instead of holding a rigid line, wobble like she's doing butterfly stroke in the pool. Throwing in an extra swing to try and recapture momentum, Lauren does her first release. It's ugly but she manages the catch. Things go downhill from that point. She doesn't hit a single full handstand and her hands shuffle all over the place as she swings, but it's not until nearly the end of the routine when Payson's heart truly plummets. Halfway up to handstand, Lauren stops, her split legs not having the power to come together and drive her up to the handstand. Instead, arms shaking with the strain, she sinks as if about to sit on the bar.

Murmurs pop all over the arena. Camera's flash. It's not competition, it doesn't count, and Payson certainly won't blame her teammate for simply giving up and dropping off the top bar. Lauren is already fighting tears.

" _We both know they're gonna be waiting for one of us to fuck up."_

Payson fights to stay calm, fights to keep from looking over to the media seats, fights to convince herself that the reputation - and maybe the chances - of Team USA aren't crumbling before her eyes.

* * *

Sasha checks his watch. Thanks to so many mistakes on bars, beam and floor, they're running tight to the ninety minute time allocation. Still, vault shouldn't take too long, and then he can get the team to the privacy of the training hall where hopefully everyone can start calming the fuck down.

"Beth, let's run both in the usual order." Sasha uses his clipboard to disguise the steadying hand pressing hard to his pounding ribs.

The only positive progress of this morning's session is that Beth has descended back into her usual dream state rather than her self-inflicting injury dream state. She hits her Amanar and Produnova clean.

Since Beth and Payson are the only gymnasts who are aiming for the event final, and have therefore prepared two different vaults, Payson goes next. As usual, she throws her hardest vault first, a roundoff, half on, layout one and a half. She lands to the right of the central marker line and makes sure to compensate so that her second vault, a double twisting Yurchenko, lands dead on.

"Nice, Payson," he enthuses, though refrains from meeting her at the podium steps to pat or squeeze her shoulder as he normally would. He palmed some pain pills about twenty minutes ago but Payson will not miss how hard he is still having to work just to remain standing and he doesn't want to put even more worry on her right now.

"Okay, Kelly, you're up."

Kelly's vault is a simple one and a half Yurchenko. It's rare that an American gymnast doesn't use at least a double, but an exception has been made for Kelly. Sasha's decision was based on Kelly's ability to consistently score as close to perfect as is possible on execution, though he has no doubts that Marty's reasoning for giving her the one and a half in the first place was that it reduces the amount of rotation in the vault thus placing less pressure on Kelly's ankle during landing.

Considering today's events, Sasha isn't expecting perfection, but he is certainly not prepared for Kelly to miss her mark entirely, run straight over the springboard, and slam into the vault table, braced palms absorbing her momentum.

There's a sudden spike in crowd chatter and Sasha bites his cheek. Kelly Parker has never balked a vault in a public event before. His teeth grip harder on what will surely soon be an ulcer when, out of the corner of his eye, he spots a group in blue uniforms walking out of the entrance tunnel.

 _Oh bloody wonderful_ , he nearly growls.

"What's the problem?" he says, deliberately calm, as he walks over to where Kelly still has the heel of each hand pushed into the table, her head hanging between sagging shoulder blades.

"You really need me to answer that?" she fires back, contempt in her expression.

"Try again. Start with just a full," Sasha says softly, instead of berating her for the show of disrespect. She's seen the Russian team too and he won't hold her accountable for a reaction driven by hurt pride.

"When did she last have a CT scan?" Sasha hisses, as Kelly's club coach joins him.

" _That_ was nerves," Marty retorts, nodding at the vault table.

"Nerves isn't why you have her doing a one and a half, Marty. What did her last CT scan show?"

But Marty is already jogging over to the bin where Kelly is rubbing chalk into her palms and soles.

"Futu-i," Sasha swears, hoping the Romanian team aren't around to offer translation.

Kelly manages a Yurchenko full but cedes the runway to Lauren without attempting the 1.5. Sasha doesn't rebuke her for it.

Though Lauren wasn't picked for vault, her standard double twisting Yurchenko is certainly an improvement on her bars performance earlier, and Haley rounds off the session by hitting her own DTY with only a minor step to the side.

"Excellent job this morning, Hayley," Sasha congratulates. "Keeping your nerve like that really showed guts."

Hayley flushes with pride, unused to being singled out.

The Olympic arena complex houses a number of training halls within its sprawling walls, and some horse trading by Chris and Jules has secured a space for the team to go to immediately. Sasha doesn't even need to ask the girls to gather their things, bags over their shoulders, they are all but sprinting to get away from the thousands of judging eyes and cameras.

Sasha shakes hands with the Russian coach without exchanging words, then waits for the girls by the entrance tunnel, wishing they could be spared this last humiliation, but he was a gymnast, he knows that facing down an opposing team is part of the game.

Ivanka Kirilenko, the 'Russian secret weapon' as she is being billed, takes the lead role, though she doesn't spare the Americans many words.

"You are, how do you say?" She looks back at her teammates, pretending she isn't fluent in English, before turning and smirking first at Lauren, then at Kelly, then finally at Payson. "Totally fucked."

Payson takes the blow without flinching, her glare never faltering, until she spins on her heel with precision that would make a Marine sit up and take notice, and marches away, head tall, the rest of the team falling into a disillusioned pack behind her. They're ten feet away when Kelly, unable to follow Sasha's instruction of keeping her mouth shut any longer, turns back and shouts, loud enough to ring through the arena.

"Did you really _ask_ for those baby bangs? Or does your hairdresser just hate you?!"


	31. Chapter 31

**CHAPTER THIRTY ONE**

By the time Team USA return from the training hall, darkness has fallen over Rio and camera flashes blind. A crowd of ill-wishers still searching for an elusive quote, unsatisfied by the dry statement Marcus read earlier, press again at the line of white uniforms as they shuffle passed.

Too exhausted to even lift their heads, the team submit to being herded through the main doors, along one of the atrium's winding pathways, and into elevators. Other gymnasts, flanked by parents and coaches, stare, all relieved that they are not marred by a stars and stripes flag on their clothes today.

Not many words were exchanged in the minibus, not many are exchanged in the elevators or in the hallway. Lauren follows her father back to his room. Her routines had improved during afternoon training but her pride is still smarting and she needs someone she can cry in front of without feeling further humiliation. Hayley mumbles something about a shower, and Kelly and Payson do no more than exchange looks as Kelly keys open their room; they'll save their consolations and pep talks until tomorrow morning when they stand more chance of being taken as inspiring rhetoric rather than meaningless platitudes.

"Can I borrow you a moment?" Sasha says to Beth as she loiters in the hallway. She happily agrees, not wanting to enter her room without Drea.

"As it turns out," Sasha says, as he taps on Darby's door and waits for an invitation, "finding a copy of one of the only gymnastics movies ever made, in a hotel full of gymnasts, is not that difficult."

Darby smiles as she pulls the door open. "We're all set up." She puts an arm round Beth and leads her into the room. Sasha stays on the threshold.

On the bed, Drea waits amidst a sea of cushions. A laptop sits at the end of the mattress, the bright screen shining in the dark room.

"Call me?" Drea's voice rasps. Her eyes are puffy, her hair is a mass of knots, but there is a pull of hope in her cautious smile.

Beth looks at Darby, then glances over her shoulder at Sasha. Her expression doesn't change as she looks back at Drea.

"No," she says, and Drea shrinks back into the cushions. "I say 'call me'," a grin stretches across Beth, "you say 'stalk you'. Remember?"

For the first time, Sasha sees a smile of true happiness break over Drea's face. It shines through the dark.

Quiet enough that it goes unnoticed, he eases the door shut. Finally alone, he rests his forehead on the frame, listening to the blur of quiet voices rustling from inside the room. He doesn't even know where to begin processing what's happened today.

"Why didn't you just turn them down?"

Sasha squeezes his eyes shut. "Sorry I disappointed you, Ellen." His head feels the weight of a bowling ball as he drags it away from the support of Darby's door.

Leaning against the opposite wall, arms folded, Ellen is expressionless. "You had the Rock - which is a hell of a lot more than you deserved - why take the national team when you knew this would happen."

"I knew Drea Conway would be so depressed she'd take a banned substance to escape from her mother's control?"

Ellen's lip curls. "You knew you would never be able to give the rest of them the attention you give _her_." Ellen doesn't need to use Payson's name.

It's a statement that will haunt Sasha, but, for now, he tucks it away, buries it in the vat of guilt burning through his gut. "Why do you hate her so much?" he murmurs.

Ellen's face remains disturbingly blank. "A true champion knows when to step aside. Payson should never have come back after her injury. She should have bowed out gracefully, become a coach, a mentor, an ambassador for the NGO. Instead, she's begged and clawed her way into a spot that should have been taken by a girl strong enough to win; she's worsened the stereotype of female gymnasts and their coaches by carrying on with you; she has lost any concept of respect for the traditions and etiquette of this sport. I don't hate her, Belov; I hate the choices she's made."

"She's still strong enough to win." Sasha is quiet and suspects this is the calmest conversation he and Ellen will ever have.

Ellen pushes herself off the wall, the first hint of contempt creeping back into her face. "Sometimes it's not about whether you win or not, it's about _how_ you win. But you never did understand that, did you, _Rebel_?"

She turns without further comment and walks away, leaving Sasha to wonder how much of what she's said is right.

* * *

"Blimey, how many of those have you taken today?" MJ remarks, as Sasha lets her into his hotel room.

Sasha dry swallows three pills and pockets the bottle. "Didn't realise the M in your name stood for matron," he snipes, pulling off his training jacket and throwing it in a ball in his still unpacked suitcase.

"I'm multitalented, or don't you remember?" MJ winks as she sits down on the bed but Sasha pays no attention. "O-kay. How's Drea?" she asks, changing the subject.

Sasha, now banging around in the bathroom, simply grunts, "with Beth," and doesn't elaborate.

MJ studies the blank TV screen and taps her fingers on her crossed knees. "I get the point, no small talk right now, which is fine by me."

"What?" Sasha stomps out of the bathroom, face damp from where he's wiped off the dried blood seeping from the cut along his jaw.

"I'm ready to talk about what we're not talking about, or we could have the fight you're picking if you really want to," MJ speaks with nonchalance but she's a person of sharp edges which are always close to the surface.

Sasha stills, looking at her reflection in the wall mirror. MJ has known this boy - she will always think of him as a boy - since he was thirteen. She's seen him angry, frustrated, and scared out of his mind, but never all three at the same time. Until now.

"Are you in love with her?"

"Can we not do this tonight?" Sasha grabs a glass of water and gulps it down.

"So when exactly do you want to do this? When someone else figures it out? I'm sure Ellen Beals will certainly refrain from shouting it from the rooftops when she discovers all her innuendos have been pretty damn accurate."

Sasha slams the glass down on the dresser. "Yes, ok? Yes, I'm in love with her. Happy?"

MJ ignores his temper; hers is worse. "And any fool can see she's in love with you."

Sasha sighs a hollow laugh. "No use in asking if you've got a recommendation for me." He rubs his forehead with his cast.

"You think you're the first man, or woman for that matter, to fall for their athlete?"

That hurts Sasha, MJ can tell, lumping him in a category most consider to be populated by paedophiles.

"I'm your friend, Sasha," MJ says, kinder, quieter, "whatever I have to say tonight please don't forget that."

Sasha looks at her reflection but, before he can answer, there's a knock at the door.

"Should I take a wild guess?" MJ says dryly.

Though he suspects MJ's right, Sasha checks the peephole. Like last night, Payson darts in the moment the door is opened. Unlike last night – and to Sasha's relief – she's wearing baggy sweatpants and a purple vest.

"I thought Marty was going to talk to Chris in the corridor for..." Payson's entire body tightens as she spots the woman already sitting on Sasha's bed. She flicks a look at Sasha, pulls on a smile that wouldn't fool anyone, and addresses MJ with an "I was just...about tomorrow? I just had a couple of question for Coach Belov."

"She knows, Pay." Sasha pushes the door shut, sealing the room.

"Knows what?" Payson's holds the fake smile, though panic starts to flush through the expression.

"Payson," MJ stands up, "the way you touched him earlier? That was not the touch of a subordinate or a friend. I've been around the block a fair few times; I know when a relationship's changed." It's not unkind, just matter of fact, as if this is a business meeting where Payson's career is on the line. None present would be able to say the tone wasn't apt.

Payson's mouth straightens as her pallor flares. She looks at MJ, looks at Sasha, looks at the floor, eyes darting side to side as her mind desperately adjusts to the situation.

"Does anyone else know?" MJ folds her arms as she starts collecting the facts she needs.

"No," Sasha says, sitting down heavily on the stool by the dresser, meds kicking in.

Payson has never been a good liar.

"Payson," MJ says, slowly. "Does anyone else know?"

"Kelly."

"What?" Sasha's voice rises.

Payson closes her eyes; the bags under them now more exhaustion than bruise. "She saw me going into our room the other night."

"Jesus ch..." MJ starts.

"I meant _my_ ," Payson interrupts, realising her mistake. "She saw me going into _my_ room in the middle of the night when Sasha was staying with us."

Sasha's studying the carpet, running through every conversation he's had with Kelly in the last few days. "Kelly knows," he repeats.

"So let me get this straight," MJ's kicked her heels off and is pacing barefoot up and down the carpet as she thinks. "How long has this been going on?"

"I haven't been keeping a diary if that's what you're worried about," Payson says, defensively folding her arms.

"Ballpark figure, then."

"Night of the accident," Sasha answers, rubbing his temples.

"So," MJ does a quick calculation, "seven days? Let's say seven days. Seven days and two people have already figured it out. Using that formula he'll be in an orange jumpsuit and you'll be in the custody of child services by the end of the month."

"But we haven't done anything," Payson stammers, shocked by the bluntness of MJ's assessment.

MJ stops in front of Payson. "You've kissed him. You've slept in the same bed." Her fallback career had been that of lawyer, a job in which she would have excelled.

"But not like that," Payson shoots back, arms dropping to her sides.

"Payson," MJ snaps, as hard as she knows she has to be, "when the words statutory rape start getting thrown around it's game over. Even if it's proved he never had sex with you" she gestures at Sasha, who sits hunched and frozen, "his career is dead and I very much doubt yours will be able to recover. And that's before we start discussing the legal repercussions."

"Legally?" Payson latches onto the word. " _Legally_ even if we'd had sex Sasha couldn't be charged. Consenting age in Colorado is seventeen; I'm eighteen in five weeks - an _adult_ in five weeks - and when I pay my Rock dues with sponsorship money, that makes our coaching relationship business and us _legally_ equals." She glares at MJ, furious at her agent's assumption she's stupid enough not to have checked any of this out.

"Yes, because we all know adhering to a legal statute most people don't know about is way more influential than the headline 'Underage Olympic Hopeful Embroiled in Tawdry Affair with Coach'.

Payson snaps her arms across her chest again and glares at the wall.

"You think I want to be telling you this?" MJ says. "I've known Sasha for fifteen years, I know he would never fool around with a gymnast just for kicks, and I've spent a career working with so called teenagers who are a darn sight more mature than the people who are legally responsible for them. He loves you, you love him, and I couldn't give a damn what numbers are on your birth certificates." She sighs, waiting for a loud conversation in the corridor to pass out of earshot. "But, I'm sorry," she grips Payson's arm. The girl is shaking. "You can count the number of people who share my opinion on one hand."

"So, what?" Payson sniffs, fighting to retain her anger. "What are we supposed to do?"

MJ takes a step away, glances at Sasha, but his eyes are to the floor. Neither woman has said anything he hasn't known from the start.

"You talk, the two of you." MJ collects her purse and toes on her shoes. "I'm on your side, don't forget that, but I won't lie to you; it's a bloody dangerous game you're both playing, especially now." The hug she gives Payson is brief but tight; the hand she places on Sasha's bowed head as gentle as it is apologetic. "I'll speak to you both in the morning." She leaves the room without further comment.

* * *

Payson doesn't know what time it is. She keeps glancing at the digital alarm clock but the numbers don't seem to be computing in her brain. She's on the edge of Sasha's bed, suddenly fearful to do more than perch. She can't believe she felt the freedom to lie next to him last night like they were two kids at some sleepover party. Sasha hasn't moved.

"She's not right, is she?" The room feels cavernous, as oppressive as a half ton of earth pressing down and threatening to bury them alive at any time. Sasha says nothing; Payson doesn't need him to, her blinders have been ripped off.

"Of course she's right," Payson says harshly. "What did I think? I was going to turn eighteen and be all 'hey everyone, we're an item, are you happy for us?'" Payson shakes her head, disgusted at herself. "We do that and you're career's dead."

Sasha's voice is old with fatigue and guilt when he mutters, "my career's already dead."

"Don't say that," Payson snaps. "Drea was not your fault." She's gripping the edge of the mattress, pouring her weight into her aching toes, eyes zipping back and forth as her mind skips through every consequence she can't believe she hasn't considered before. "And God, my parents. Like they won't backtrack over every second you've been in the house wondering if we were fooling around behind their backs."

"What did you think was going to happen?" There is resignation flowing off Sasha as he sits, hunched and aching.

"I don't know," Payson snaps, feeling stupidly naive. "That things would be like they are now, we'd just be together?"

Sasha, eyes closed, huffs a pained sigh.

"Don't laugh at me."

"I'm not laughing at you, Pay," Sasha twists his head, meeting her glare. "Do you know how much I wish it could be like that?"

"But it can't." Payson blinks. It's not a question she wants an answer to.

Sasha clicks his jaw and goes back to staring at nothing, elbows on knees. "No, it can't. You're seventeen; I'm thirty-one. Even when you turn eighteen, your parents could try and press charges retrospectively."

It takes Payson a few minutes to respond. It's one thing to have MJ speak the truth without shielding her; to hear the words from Sasha's mouth makes the reality even more painful. "I wouldn't let them," she whispers, watching the slight flicker of the bathroom light through the half open door.

"So I cause a rift between you and your parents." Sasha hauls his body to standing as if his spine were made of barbed wire. "Either way, everyone loses."

"You think you should quit." Payson is surprised at her own words.

Sasha paces slowly to the opposite wall and rests his forehead against the cold glass of a picture frame. "Can you give me one rational reason why I shouldn't?"

 _I don't want to be without you; you promised you'd never walk away; I love you_.

"Ok," Payson sniffs, gathering what's left of her poise, "forget about me, us. What about the others? Kelly, Lo, Beth, hell, what about Drea? They trust you; they need you."

Sasha's breath mists the glass. "Kelly has Marty; Beth has her club coach; Steve is who Lauren really relies on even when they're at each other's throats; and Drea needs her family, if we can find them."

Payson is furious at herself for having no counter argument to any of his claims. "Why are you smiling?" she frowns, catching sight of his reflection.

Sasha turns to face her, puts his hands behind his back, and leans against the wall. "I had almost this exact same conversation with your mother the night of World trials when she was convincing me I should stay on as your coach." His attention is all on her. At one time - hell, yesterday - that might have made Payson a little nervous, or at least self-conscious, now she automatically repays his intensity in kind.

"Do you regret listening to her?" she asks, carefully.

Sasha's lip quirks like one of his barbed wire spinal discs have swiped a major organ. "You can't ask me that."

"I just did."

"If I regret staying that means I regret you and I can never do that." It's hard for Sasha to look away from her. "That doesn't mean I don't wish for your sake that I hadn't been so selfish."

"You think I'd be happier if you'd just vanished?" Payson says, not hiding her disbelief at how his mind is working.

Sasha turns an equally mystified expression back on her. "Look at where we are, Payson? Look at the bruises on your face." He gestures his broken arm out toward her, guilt hunching his shoulders again.

"You didn't cause the car crash, Sasha," Payson stands as her volume rises.

"I was the reason you were in the damn car in the first place!" Breathing hard, Sasha pulls back on his anger.

"So you're going to pull an It's A Wonderful Life now and make me realise how much better things would be without you?" Payson steps toward him. "We are where we are," she sighs, fury deflating just as fast as his.

"Pretty damn screwed?"

Payson sighs and tips her head forward on to Sasha's shoulder. "Something like that," she mumbles. They breathe together for a moment, listening to the distant rush of cars along Rio's streets. "Could you do it?" When Payson lifts her head, she keeps fingers fisted in his t-shirt, "just leave, I mean?"

The kiss Sasha places on Payson's hairline is wrapped in a sigh as deep as a sob. "I've never been a brave man, not when it mattered."

Payson can smell the mix of rust and antiseptic on Sasha's face. "I could come with you." She knows it sounds childish even as she speaks.

"You love your family, Payson." Sasha traces the line of Payson's cheek with the concentration of one who suspects this may be the last time he has the luxury.

"I love _you_." She won't cry. She closes her eyes to keep the water inside.

"I won't be the cause of you having to choose."

"It's my choice to make."

An anonymous hotel room in a city of millions, yet they can both feel an accusative searchlight burning their backs.

"So you'd just walk away from your mum and dad? From Becca?" He looks her in the eyes. "Exactly," he says, disbelief vindicated by the visible fear provoked by his question.

"But I can't walk away from you either." The tears overflow and she pushes her face into Sasha's shoulder to hide them. He cups the back of her head with his good hand and strokes her hair.

"Tomorrow is the biggest day of your life," Sasha murmurs. Their qualification subdivision starts at ten thirty and Payson's emotionally and physically exhausted. "This can wait."

Payson breaks out of his hold. "You know it can't," she says firmly, recovering her last piece of strength to ask him directly, "tell me now, are you going to quit after Worlds?"

"It may not be a choice; the NGO aren't exactly thrilled that a gymnast under my care tested positive for cocaine the day before the championship officially starts."

"Assume they want you to stay," Payson fires back, unwilling to let him off on a technicality, "are you going to quit?"

The barbed wire in his back gives another judder. "Give me another option." Sasha doesn't bother to hide his desperation. They're far past pretences. "Are you honestly saying you think we can work together now and act like nothing's happened between us?"

Payson twists her head away, watches the curtains flutter as the air-conditioning kicks in. "We could carry on as we are," she says.

"Kelly knows, MJ knows; how long do you think it's going to be before Kim figures it out, or Becca walks in on us? Not to mention..." he stops.

"Not to mention what?" Payson frowns.

Sasha glances at the open curtains. "When you're in the gym, Payson, I have trouble looking at anyone else." His eyes are sad. "We both know I should have picked up that something was very wrong with Drea. Like I should have with Kaylie, and with Emily. Don't," he holds a hand up to stop her automatic denial. "We both know I should have noticed."

Payson looks at the carpet.

"I love you, Payson," Sasha sighs at the ceiling, "and it isn't fair on the others that I'm not strong enough to give them the same attention I give you. You said you remember Nationals every time you jump on the bars, well so do I." He swallows hard. "I remember you falling and knowing that no matter how fast I ran I couldn't get to you in time."

Payson blinks and a few tears spackle her cheeks.

"I won't let you fall again, I can't," his words are almost savage, "which means that one of the other girls will fall and I won't be there to catch them because I'll be looking at you."

"I'm sorry I..."

"No, no sorrys. We are where we are, remember?"

Slowly, Payson reaches out, catches her index finger round Sasha's thumb. "So what do we do?"

"I have to resign after Worlds." As the words leave his mouth, Sasha can suddenly breathe more easily.

"As national coach or Rock coach?" Payson tightens her hold on his hand.

"Both."

"So I have killed your career." Payson swipes a hand over her eyes as the tears stream.

"No," Sasha leans down and presses his forehead to Payson's. "Please, never think that. I made my own choices."

Payson's eyes are so close to Sasha's their lashes brush together as they blink. "And I made mine," she murmurs. Determination like she hasn't felt in a long time starts to bubble. "Okay, so you quit as national coach and Rock coach but you're not quitting as my coach."

Sasha's hands move to Payson's waist. "What about your fam..."

Payson kisses him before he can say anything else. "We'll figure it out," she promises,as she pulls away, wiping her eyes as faith flushes through her.

Without warning, Sasha's vision starts to blur.

"Hey," Payson's strong enough to take Sasha's weight as he sags against her. "Hey," she says again, more urgently. "Sasha, are you ok? Talk to me." His eyes are closed but she feels a nod.

"Come on," she says, pumping adrenaline allowing her to half carry him over to the bed. She sits him on the edge, tries to ease his head over onto his knees but stops when he moans in pain. "Sorry," she says, rubbing his back gently. "Do you need water? Just tell me what you want me to do." She hears the panic in her voice and tries to dull it down.

"I'm ok, I'm ok," Sasha murmurs, eyes still closed. "Long day." He tries to laugh and it sounds like he's choking.

"I'm confiscating your pills if you don't start counting how many you take," Payson says, crouching on the floor between Sasha's legs so she can hold his bowed face.

"Aye aye, Captain Keeler," Sasha eases his eyes open, tiny slits of sight completely filled with Payson's worried eyes.

She's stroking his jaw, he can feel her shivering. He wants to hold her, wants to keep her safe. His good hand finds the back of her neck. Her eyes stay locked to his as she tips up, pressing her lips to his. Their kiss quickly turns deeper, more desperate, more fraught than any shared before. Payson scratches at his skull, massaging the short bristles under her nails as he arches into her touch. The mattress creaks as Payson crawls up from the floor, Sasha half lifting her, pain forgotten, until she is straddling his lap, knees either side of his thighs. The kiss doesn't break, doesn't ease, the drum of 'only' and 'last' is hammering through them both.

Sasha's hands work up under the fabric of Payson's vest, fingers finding the long, slick strips of skin marking her spine. He rubs them, soothing the scars of her injury as he has wanted to do since they were cut into her back. In one swift move, Payson drags the vest over her head; she's already kissing Sasha again by the time it hits the floor. She adjusts her position to get more comfortable and Sasha shudders. Payson pauses then and brings their faces just enough apart so she can look at him as she repeats the move, shifting her weight down into his lap. When his eyes flicker shut, she does it again, a feral grin breaking across her red lips.

Bare waist secured by large hands, Payson's simple white bra rubs against Sasha's rumpled t-shirt. Unwilling to tolerate anymore barriers, Payson takes a fistful of the t-shirt hem and pulls, expecting the shirt to disappear with the ease her vest did. Sasha's yelp is muffled by fabric.

"Oh my god!" Payson squeaks, suddenly coherent enough to actually see. The t-shirt slid off Sasha's good arm no problem but has somehow got knotted and is now wrapped over his head like a mummy's bandage. "Are you ok?" She really doesn't mean to giggle.

"Pretty sure James Bond never had this problem," Sasha mumbles, with all the dignity he can muster, t-shirt getting sucked into his mouth as he speaks.

Payson's trying to hide her giggles behind her hand but she's still sitting on Sasha and he can feel her tremors of mirth at his expense.

"I didn't realise I was dating the invisible man," Payson chuckles as she works to free him, humour growing the longer it takes her to untwist the t-shirt.

"You'll be dating the suffocating man in a minute," Sasha sighs, but he yelps again when Payson finally pulls the t-shirt off his head.

"Sorry!" she squeaks, wincing. A piece of scab from his top cut came off with the material. She quickly drags the t-shirt over his casted arm and uses it as a tissue to blot the swilling blood.

"And yet you're still laughing." Sasha tries to look deeply offended by her lack of sympathy but it's impossible. Blond hair everywhere, eyes shining and wide, mouth red with rushing blood, hands on his face, body in his arms, he can do nothing but smile at the beautiful girl giggling and pushing kisses to his hairline.

"I'm sorry," Payson sighs, with a final chuckle, though her smile doesn't disappear. She dabs the blood away and assesses that the damage is negligible. Sasha strokes her jaw. She's still straddling his lap, kneeling, so she has the height advantage. She looks down at him. Their kiss this time is languid and slow.

* * *

"We're going to tell my parents," Payson says. She's lying on her front, head tipped toward Sasha, who's propped up on a couple of pillows. She's naked apart from her black panties.

"About this?" Sasha tries to raise an eyebrow, though, as his eyes won't open more than a crack, it doesn't really work.

Payson gives a slow giggle and lightly nudges her nose into his bare torso. "Ha ha." She nestles against his side and listens to his breathing. "When you and I leave the Rock, I can't lie to them as to why," she says after a while.

"Do you remember the neighbour's tree your mom accidentally chopped down?" Sasha murmurs; he's half asleep, unable to fight the side effects of medication anymore. "My dismembered carcass will soon be keeping it company."

"Don't be a drama queen." Payson strokes his casted arm. "Maybe they'll surprise us."

Sasha doesn't answer. The room is dark, allowing the lights of Rio's skyline to creep in through the half-open curtains.

"All I know is, I'm choosing to be honest with the people I love, isn't that what being an adult is all about? Being brave enough to be honest and living with the consequences?" Payson twists onto her back and props up on her elbows, expecting to feel a little embarrassed about being naked in front of Sasha like this, but the feeling doesn't come. She stares out at the looming skyscrapers. Yellow dots are thrown onto her bare stomach.

She's not tired anymore and she hasn't felt this in control of her life since before Nationals; it seems illogical that such sentiments should be so powerful after such a day.

"I set the alarm for five forty-five. Want to bet that Kelly will be waiting at the door with a cigarette and a high-five?" Payson glances over at Sasha. He's just wearing his boxers. The bed sheets are kicked down to the end of the mattress. "She's going to be very disappointed when I tell her it's not needed."

Sasha's cheek moves a fraction of an inch.

The mattress jostles as Payson leans over and presses a light kiss to Sasha's lips. He's finally asleep. She smiles as the worry lines on his face disappear. "I got your back, Belov," she whispers, kissing him once again before turning onto her side and staring out at the Rio night.


	32. Chapter 32

**CHAPTER THIRTY TWO**

 _Good Morning, folks, and thanks for joining us! We are broadcasting live from the Olympic Arena in the beautiful city of Rio de Janeiro on the first day of the World Artistic Gymnastics Championships and the road to London 2012 starts right here! I'm Tim Daggett, alongside Elfie Schelgel, and, gosh, Elfie, competition hasn't even started and already we have so much to talk about._

 _Tim, the entire arena is still buzzing with yesterday's shocking revelation that Aundrea Conway - who many predicted would shine at these championships - failed a drug test. Full details are yet to be released by the NGO but we hope to have those later today. Understandably, this news has rocked Team USA to its core. To put it in context, you have to remember what this team has already been through, suffering the loss of national champion Kaylie Cruz and potential medallist Emily Kmetko just two months ago._

 _And then the crash last week..._

 _Exactly, Coach Sasha Belov and gymnast Payson Keeler involved in a horrific car accident. Payson walked away with minor bruises but Coach Belov suffered a broken arm, broken ribs, and severe facial lacerations that everyone will see for themselves today when Team USA arrive._

 _I've had broken ribs in my time Elfie and, let me tell you, the absolute last thing you want to do is move. Coach Belov has had to deal with last minute training, travel to Rio, and now this shocking development with Aundrea Conway. Many are people are asking - even some within Team USA - whether he is physically capable of leading this team._

 _Which is a very inexperienced team, too._

 _Very. Kelly Parker may be defending all-around champion but she is the only one of the - now - five gymnasts who has actually competed at a World Championship. Payson Keeler and Hayley Righetti have been national team members for two years but this is their first Worlds selection, while Lauren Tanner and Beth Dean only made the team this year. It's certainly a baptism of fire for these girls._

 _And we haven't mentioned them yet but everyone is talking about the videos that came out of podium training yesterday. Tim, I mean, come on, if you're Sasha Belov, you'd want to pull the plug on YouTube this minute, right?_

 _I'd want the whole internet shut down! Seriously though, those videos have just amped up concerns about Team USA's lack of strength in depth. Forty-eight hours ago, the women's team competition was a straight three-way race between the USA, Russia, and China. Today, USA isn't even in the top five, that's how low confidence is in this team. And, on a lighter note, I'm not sure Ivanka Kirilenko will be too impressed with Kelly Parker giving her hairstyle a big thumbs down._

 _That video's already gone viral, Tim, so expect fireworks when these two come face to face again._

* * *

It sounds like an ocean roaring just beyond the dunes. Payson stares down the rectangle of light as she hovers at the corridor corner and enjoys the defiance flowing through her as she listens to the baying crowd.

"At least the Brazilians are up first too, less people looking at us." Lauren stands at Payson's shoulder, her hair an intricate mesh of braids and ribbons, her eyes coated in the same dark liner as the rest of the team's.

"Since when does Lauren Tanner 'Queen of the Beam' not want people looking at her," Payson asks, arms folded, still staring at the yellow rectangle and the silhouettes that keep cutting across.

"Since she face-planted the bar yesterday," Lauren mutters, her usual perfect posture slumped.

"You mean since she decided to give up because things hadn't gone her way," Payson continues, her tone remaining neutral.

"Excuse me?" Lauren snaps. Her shoulders straighten a little.

Payson shrugs. "It's ok, Lo, just never took you for a quitter. Guess Ellen Beals was right for once."

Head reeling round, hands going to her hips, Lauren glares at her teammate. "I am not some tweenybopper level two who you can play head games with, Payson Keeler, so do not even try that reverse psychology bullshit on me."

Payson meets Lauren's fury with innocent eyes. "I'm just saying that if you need a hug before your routines today, everyone will understand."

A finger is wagged in Payson's face. "The only thing I need from you is to get the fire extinguisher ready for when my sizzle sets that beam on fire." Lauren breathes hard. Payson starts to grin. "Oh, you think you're so damn smart, don't you?" Lauren says, as an adrenaline smile spreads across her suddenly flushed cheeks.

"This is for Kaylie," Payson murmurs, slapping Lauren on the arm as she passes by to talk to Hayley and Beth. When she glances back, Lauren is bouncing up and down on her toes, glaring at the arena entrance, arrogant posture back with force.

The corridor runs behind the south stand, a long stretch of white-painted cinderblock walls and blue carpet tiles. Referee's offices, physio clinics, and call rooms lie behind carefully labelled doors. The far end leads back to the changing rooms and warm up hall; the near end snaps ninety degrees right, carrying right through into the arena.

"Everyone keeps staring at us," Hayley hisses, when Payson approaches. She and Beth are leaning against the wall, well down from the top of the corridor, hoping their mostly white tracksuits will let them blend into the paint work. Rather than glancing over her shoulder, Payson turns her entire body.

Since so many gymnasts have qualified for the championship, the preliminary round is divided into subdivisions, four groups competing in each. Subdivision one consists of Brazil, USA, and two groups of mixed nationalities whose countries did not succeed in fielding a full team.

There are too many gymnasts and coaches to fit in the call rooms, so the corridor is teeming with people. Payson glares, waiting until every single person who meets her eye looks away first.

"Stare back," Payson says, facing Hayley and Beth again. "You have nothing to be ashamed of so don't let anyone make you think you do."

Hayley, in a little bit of awe, breaks into an almost smile. "Ok, captain."

The smile becomes true when Payson holds her fist out, looking as solemn as if she was swearing an oath. "No days to go fist bump?"

"Hell yeah!" Hayley bangs Payson's fist and they both do a dramatic explosion. This time, Hayley doesn't mind the other gymnasts looking at her.

"How you doing without the Yankees cap?" Payson says to Beth, once Hayley has skipped through the melee to fist bump Lauren. Lauren 'explodes' it even louder than Hayley.

Beth chews at her lip. "Drea's wearing it for me," she says. "She's going to send the luck our way."

"Good," Payson nods. "You going to remember to re-catch out of your Jaeger today?"

"She didn't forget to re-catch yesterday, she was just testing Chris's reflexes, right, Toto?" Kelly's voice drifts over Payson's shoulder. Payson fights a smile.

Beth's nodding enthusiastically. "And I gave him a nine out of ten."

"See?" Kelly leans against the wall next to Beth and nudges the smaller girl. "S'all good."

"Toto?" Payson raises an eyebrow at Kelly.

"She's tiny, she's from Kansas, and she ignored me earlier when I called her Dorothy." Kelly shrugs. "And can we please get a moment's appreciation for her awesome braids." Beth does a twirl so Payson can see all the ribbons.

"Looking good, Beth," Payson nods approvingly and offers her fist for another bump.

"I actually meant some appreciation for the braider of the braids," Kelly mutters, out of Beth's hearing.

Payson grins. "I know."

Kelly's reply is interrupted by Sasha calling the team together. Since it's their home event, Brazil with be announced first. Team USA gather just down from the prayer circle the Brazilians have already formed.

"Ok," Sasha starts, as the team sling arms round each other's shoulders and lean in for the final pep talk. "You all saw the news this morning, we've been written off. We're finished. We're done. May as well pack up and go home now."

The sheer amount of people packed into the corridor shadows the bright lights, but Sasha's sly smile shines to each of them. "Do you realise what that means?"

"I should lock Tim Daggett in the trunk of my car until he promises never to doubt us again?" Kelly smirks, as the others giggle.

"We'll call that plan B," Sasha accepts. "What it means is," he pauses, lets the laughter die out of the group, the adrenaline surge back through, lets his words come slowly and softly. "You have absolutely _nothing_ to lose."

Crowd noise is rising. Blaring music whipping up the enthusiasm of fifteen thousand eager fans. The arena lights blaze to match the thumping beat, edges flickering into the hallway like reflected fireworks.

"You go out there, you have fun." The circle tightens, power and confidence pulling them together. "And you show every one of those - what were you calling them early, Hayley?"

Hayley grins a determined scowl. "Haters, Coach."

"You show everyone of those 'haters' exactly who you are." Sasha pulls his arm from around Beth and shoves a flat palm into the centre of the group. Five hands shoot out to join his until there is a column of fingers supporting and leaning on each other. "USA on three. One, two, three..."

"USA!"

* * *

 _Just a quick recap of how things are going to work here today, it's the five up four count format for Brazil and USA, both nations aiming to qualify for Tuesday's team final. Five gymnasts will perform on each apparatus, with the lowest score being dropped. After four rotations, all scores will be tallied to give a total that will determine if and in what position the team qualifies. Each gymnast's individual scores will also determine their own qualification for the all-around and event finals._

 _Sorry to interrupt, Tim, but I think that could be, yes, here come Team USA!_

 _They're starting this morning's session on uneven bars, which is probably not what you want to hear if you're Lauren Tanner._

 _And let's not forget the last major appearance of Payson Keeler was at Nationals when she suffered a near career-ending fall._

* * *

 _Strap, adjust, chalk, spit_. Payson walks the habit through her mind as her body responds automatically.

"Are they going to bill me if I hit that camera?" she asks Sasha as they prep the bars together, nodding at the zip-line above that allows the television equipment to whizz round the arena. To Payson, its position looks a little low.

"The NGO will reimburse you as long as you keep the receipt."

As they move to the edge of the podium, Sasha touches her shoulder, asks her silently if she's got this. Payson takes one last look at him, hopes he'll understand the blink of her eyes as the kiss she wants it to be, then looks to the lower bar.

The arena falls away. The cheers and the shrieks and the tap-tap-tap of a thousand laptops from the media stand blend to a buzz Payson lets drift into the distance. The world consists of two eight foot long strips of fibreglass. Payson works her toes against the mat; soon that won't exist either. A salute to the judges she doesn't see, a breath, and her version of a prayer, and she leaves the floor behind.

One strong heave powers her into the first swing, cord-like muscles bred from years of pre-dawn training sessions stretched past maximum. She throws her hands to the top bar, lets the momentum rush through her in a wave to keep the swing steady and strong. She imagines kicking the camera that zips above, stretches her toes, locks her thighs, turns her legs into a single plank of lead as she swings from handstand to handstand. She will live in four dimensions for forty seconds.

Against every instinct, she releases her fingers. Centrifugal force shoots her away from the bar. It's addictive joyful terror as she hovers for the shortest of moments before gravity punishes her rebellion and drags her toward a quick death. With her fingers alone, she saves her life, finds the bar again, and spins out another series of revolutions.

Without warning, the shape of the pyramid arena in Boston pops up in her mind, startlingly bright, the memory of falling, falling so fast and so slow. Her elbow gives a millimetre in shock but she smashes the mental pyramid with a prone fist and continues to swing.

Transfer to the lower bar with a jarring rattle of steel, a piked swing, toes nearly poking her eyes, and then transfer back to the upper bar. She winds up the swing, staring at the fibreglass under her hands while the edge of her sight spins with colour and confusion. She waits to sense the release spot; anticipate it and she will land on her face, hesitate and her back will be the first part of the body to meet the mat. With the trust of a lifetime spent on these shreds of wire, Payson throws her muscle mass into the bar and pushes off with the rebound, hurling herself in a tight, spinning line above and away from the equipment. It's time to fly or die.

* * *

 _We are almost done with this first rotation and Team USA is showing none of the nerves that resulted in yesterday's disastrous podium training session. Hayley Righetti landed a 13.800 to kick things off. Payson Keeler followed up with a 15.100 and young Beth Dean just put in a solid 14 flat._

 _Defending all-around champion Kelly Parker will anchor the team on this apparatus which is one of her strongest pieces._

 _But, after yesterday, what everyone's been waiting for is to see how Lauren Tanner handles the pressure. Sounds like she's bought some vocal supporters, though._

 _And there are a few familiar faces in amongst Team USA's unofficial glee club..._

* * *

"Let's go, Lo! Let's go, Lo! Don't make Sasha shout out 'D'oh!"

Austin, Max, and the rest of the men's team, along with some NGO physios and staffers, have commandeered a spot at the front of the first tier of seats not far down from the bars platform. They're all standing, pumping their arms in time with their chant.

"Is that a Simpsons reference?" Sasha cocks his head toward the stand as he meets Beth at the podium steps.

"Season seven, episode twelve, 'Team Homer'," Beth tells him immediately as she trots down from the apparatus, her score flashing up on the board. "I watch it with my dad," she explains, when Sasha just blinks.

"Remind me to keep you in mind if I ever need a team for the pub quiz." Sasha gives her a double high five and a quick hug, then turns his attention to Lauren.

"You can do this in your sleep, remember. Show them Lauren Tanner doesn't take kindly to being ruled out before the game even starts."

One sharp nod and Lauren jogs up to the podium, goes through the motions at the chalk bin, and glares down the bars like they've personally insulted her hair style.

Over in the stands, the boys shift songs.

"Naaaaaah nah nah nana na nahhhh! Nana na nahhhh! Tann-errrrr!"

With arms outstretched, Austin offers the hovering jib camera a big smile as he sings and points to the flag on his jacket. The spectators around the Americans join in, recognising the tune of The Beatles _Hey Jude._

If Lauren is at all put off by the volume her surname is being belted out at, she betrays no indication. A salute to the judges and she attacks the bars with the rage of hurt pride. Her jaegers are tight, her handstands sharp, her lines clean, and her feet plough into the mat and stop her momentum dead on her dismount.

Jumping down from the platform, Lauren revels in a reprise of 'Hey Tanner' as she gets high-fives and back slaps from the rest of the team.

* * *

 _Considering the upheaval they've gone through in the past few days, I am so impressed by these girls spirit, Tim._

 _And great that the guys are out here supporting, too._

 _Her score is just coming in and, wow, Lauren Tanner putting in a 14.500; that's a personal best for her on this apparatus._

* * *

Payson shoulders her backpack as the claxon instructing a change of apparatus blares through the arena. She's about to jog forward to talk to Sasha, who is leading them down the short gully between the platforms, when she spots Beth struggling to carry her bag while flipping through her carabiner of index cards.

"Let me," Payson catches the backpack as it slips off Beth's elbow.

"Thanks," Beth says, attention still on her cards.

Payson gently urges Beth forward with a hand between the shoulder blades so they don't get caught up with the Brazilian team who are moving from vault to bars.

"You okay?" Payson puts both their bags down on the folding chairs stationed beside the beam podium.

"I wasn't picked for beam," Beth bites her lip, talking more to herself than Payson. "It was meant to be bars, sit out, floor, vault. That was the pattern."

"Everything alright over here?" Sasha joins them, hand automatically giving Payson's arm a brush of greeting.

"Bars, sit out, floor, vault. That's what my card listed for today," Beth repeats, peering up at the taller gymnast and much taller coach.

Payson sees Sasha's long blink of realisation.

"God, I am so sorry, Beth." Sasha stoops down to her height. "I meant to change your card yesterday. Things just got away from me."

Payson suffers a punch of guilt. All her questioning of Sasha last night regarding their relationship when she should have been helping him keep on track with his job. She feels even worse when embarrassment touches Beth's face.

"It's okay," she stammers, quickly. "I mean, I talked to Drea about it last night, and we walked through my beam routine and everything, it's just...I'd practiced the 'bars, sit out, floor, vault' pattern so much in my head, and, we just came off bars and I got confused and... I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologise for. This was my mistake, not yours," Sasha says, with a sincerity that, while immediately calming Beth, upsets Payson by the sheer amount of self-hatred she can hear in him.

"Chris?" Sasha calls over the junior coach. "Because I apparently have the memory of a goldfish," he shoots a wink at Beth, who giggles, "Beth's cards aren't up to date. Can you recap with her?"

"No worries," Chris reads Sasha's expression and immediately sets about reassuring Beth and restoring her focus.

When Sasha steps a few paces away and puts his back to the stands and the team, Payson follows. "Yesterday was crazy," she murmurs, coming to stand beside him, trying to assuage her own guilt as well as his. "It's understandable things got missed."

Sasha is staring at the carpet, good hand held tight against his thigh as it flexes in and out of a fist. He seems on the verge of speaking, but his mouth stays shut, jaw tensed so tight Payson can see the stitches straining.

"Stay in the moment." Payson has to fight to stop her arms encircling Sasha, to keep her reassurance vocal only. "We can do this."

Sasha doesn't look at her, but a deep breath finally leaves his lungs.

"Hayley," he calls, steadiness of tone incongruent to the tremor behind his eyes. "You all set?"

As he walks past Payson, Sasha brushes close enough to briefly grip her fingers. Raising her eyes to the ceiling, Payson studies the hanging flags while she lets her beam routine run through her mind. It takes all her mental energy to ignore the clammy cold she felt on Sasha's skin.

* * *

 _And at the end of the second rotation, Team USA is still going strong._

 _A nerve-settling performance by Hayley Righetti, posting a 14.250. Her consistency and level headed ability to hit has really paid dividends for this team over the past two days._

 _Payson Keeler grinds out another excellent 15.100 while Lauren Tanner goes a tenth better with 15.200._

 _As expected, Beth Dean not quite able to match her teammates. But, considering she was scheduled to sit out beam until Aundrea Conway was disqualified, a respectable 13.700 for a gymnast who has never really got to grips with this piece of equipment._

 _The story here, though, Tim, is Kelly Parker. Last year, her beam scores were consistently breaking 15.000. Today, she's 14.700 and she made no major errors._

 _Exactly, her d-score this year is noticeably lower than the routine that helped her win all-around gold last year. Makes you wonder if the ankle injury that put her out for over a month was worse than reported._

* * *

"Excellent, Lauren!" Sasha slaps a high five as Lauren, jubilant at her score of 14.700, bounces down from the floor platform. "But you got another event to go, so save your energy."

"I feel like I could throw a hundred vaults!" Lauren enthuses, jiggling on the spot as she pulls on her track pants.

"We just need the one," Sasha tells her, moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with Kelly as Payson climbs the steps and preps at the chalk bin.

"How bad is it?" He keeps his words emotion free, even though his throat is tight.

Kelly tries to disguise her flinch. "It'll hold."

"That's not…"

"Let's go, Keeler!" Kelly cheers over Sasha's words, as Payson folds to the mat to start her floor routine.

* * *

 _If we cast our minds back to Boston and the National Championships, Elfie, honestly, did you ever expect to see this?_

 _Payson Keeler in contention for the all-around final or Kelly Parker cheering her on? Seriously though, Tim, I still find it unbelievable what Payson has been able to do since her experimental back surgery. She was a power gymnast, as a junior then as a senior._

 _And now people are calling her one of the most artistic gymnasts in the world._

 _It's what she's had to do. She grew an inch while she was injured, her entire body changed, the power technique she'd always used just wasn't going to cut it anymore._

 _Gotta give props as well to Sasha Belov, creating this new style for Payson. I know a lot of people have been saying her Swan Lake routine is the one they most want to see at these championships._

 _And she certainly did not disappoint; an absolutely beautiful performance scoring an impressive 15.000._

 _Next up is last year's silver medallist, Kelly Parker. Can she match the mark her teammate has just laid down?_

* * *

"Four months."

"Excuse me?" Sasha frowns at Marty. The pair are standing beside the floor podium, watching Kelly salute the judges and take up her start position on the mat.

Marty swallows. "You asked me when she last had a CT scan. It was four months ago when it picked up the stress fractures."

Sasha coughs to cover a growl. "And you're telling me this _now_?" As if on cue, Kelly's music erupts from the speakers.

"She deserves the chance to defend her title. I was...I wanted to help her do that. And I thought she was fine." Marty scrubs a hand over his face, partly to disguise this conversation, partly to disguise his own panic as Kelly makes an infinitesimal shift of weight off her bad ankle coming out of a double pike. It's unlikely to be picked up by the crowd, or even the commentators, but both coaches see it as if she had hopped off the foot entirely.

"After the rehab, she said she had full range of movement. She said the pain was gone. And I…"

 _Wanted to believe her,_ Sasha doesn't say.

"Cortisone?" Sasha scratches his nose. Cortisone is not a word you want eagle eyed lip readers catching.

Marty flicks a look at his colleague. "A lot."

Sasha bites his cheek. He wants to berate Marty - it's a coach's job to gather as much information as possible, even if it's unpalatable; to make the difficult decisions - but whatever moral high ground Sasha once might have claimed has forever been forfeited.

"She'll need another shot before finals but even then..." Marty swallows, voice tight.

 _We have no idea if the ankle will hold,_ Sasha again finishes Marty's sentence in his head.

"Just keep it calm. We have options," Sasha murmurs, watching every landing as Kelly spins and jumps across the mat. The last thing he needs is for Marty to fall apart with a crisis of conscience with a rotation still to go.

Both coaches suck in a deep breath as Kelly pivots to the corner and settles for her final tumbling pass. With no hesitation, she launches into a roundoff, back handspring, then rounds her double twist off into a layout. One step back and a slight wobble but she's inbounds. The crowd applauds loudly as she salutes then waves.

"How bad, one to ten?" Sasha, all smiles, mutters through his teeth as Marty lifts Kelly down from the podium in the guise of a celebratory hug.

"Four." Kelly holds her smile but her eyes are sharp with pain and the number is obviously a lie.

Marty keeps an arm round her waist, faking happiness over her performance as effectively as Kelly. He lowers her into a seat and Sasha takes the chair next to her, making loaded eye contact with Payson and then Chris and Jules.

"Let's go Hayley, you got this!" Payson hollers, masking the few backwards steps that bring her beside Sasha.

"Come on, Hayley! Show those haters what you think about them!" Jules calls, as she and Chris deliberately spread out over the patch of carpet beside the floor podium, providing both shield and distraction from the conversation Sasha is about to have with Kelly.

"You can scratch vault," Sasha murmurs, steady and calm. "I know it'll take you out of the all-around but your scores already put you in bars and floor finals, and Lauren is going well enough to land her DTY so the team score won't drop."

Kelly's breathing is shallow but her eyes convey a depth of emotion that makes Sasha hate himself for not pushing this issue while they were still in Boulder.

"Marty's got a big mouth." Kelly is fighting to keep her voice steady.

Payson takes the seat next to Kelly and rests a hand on her thigh.

Kelly sniffs. "If you hug me, I may vomit."

"Thanks for the warning," Payson says, leaving her hand where it is.

Hayley's music starts up. The crowd noise bursts with patriotic pride as Ana Clara Cardoso sticks her beam dismount.

"Look, I'm not stupid," Kelly murmurs, looking at the hands she has balled into fists in her lap. "Unless there are some serious fuckups, I know my scores aren't enough to put me in the all-around medals. But," she looks at Payson, then at Sasha, "it's _my_ title. I can't just give it away."

She's steely grit edged with a last ditch desperation that Sasha recognises. For Kelly, it's her ankle; for Sasha, it was his knee.

" _Please_ , Sasha."

He should insist, should pull rank and push through the logical decision to protect her ankle. But he is exhausted and his pain pills have worn off and he knows exactly how Kelly is feeling and, God, does her plea strike straight through his name and into his heart.

"It's your choice." Sasha clasps one of her fists. "I'll be with you either way."

Gratitude skips across Kelly's face, but it is quickly superseded by fiery determination.

When he stands up to congratulate Hayley and give Beth a quick pep talk, Sasha is very aware of the stab in his knee, a pain he is so accustomed to it usually doesn't register.

* * *

 _Wow, Elfie! If you look up Yurchenko 1.5 in the textbook, that is exactly what you'll see!_

 _A fantastically executed vault by Kelly Parker scoring a 14.700 which brings her total up to 59.400._

 _And surely wins her a place in the all-around final, along with Payson Keeler who posted a superb 61.100._

 _Talk about a turnaround! From disaster in podium training yesterday to an overall team score of 181.000. You think if Sasha Belov had been offered that qualifying score this morning he would have taken it?_

 _I think he would have bitten the hand off the guy offering it! A truly inspiring performance by Team USA._

 _And Lauren Tanner providing the surprise of the morning with a 59.100. As per the 2004 ruling, only two athletes from each country can progress to any final, otherwise surely Lauren Tanner would be competing on Tuesday too._

* * *

Post-competition chatter bounces off the ceramic tiles along with the uninterrupted water spray of the busy showers. Like sand, chalk gets everywhere, and Payson sighs happily as she sponges it from her skin. It's only a quick shower - she's careful not to let water splash her hair or makeup - but enough that Payson won't have to go through media with sweaty chalk caked over every limb.

"You did great today, Lauren," Payson says, as she cloaks a towel over her shoulders and faces the wall to pull on underwear.

"I did, didn't I?" Lauren preens, smile bursting across her heavily made up face as she hooks her bra closed. "I mean," she leans toward Payson, dropping her voice, "if Kelly's ankle is that bad and she can't compete, it could totally be me in the all-around final. Can you believe it?" She beams with delight, returning to reassembling her uniform without noticing the rush of anger colouring Payson's cheeks.

"No," Payson snaps, stomping one leg then the other into her tracksuit pants. "I can't."

Lauren, absentmindedly humming _Hey Jude_ , doesn't catch the real meaning behind Payson's words, so Payson, sucking in her temper and reminding herself that post-competition Lauren never thinks before she speaks, drags a t-shirt over her head. And swears as it catches on a hair pin.

Payson's patience is further tested as Lauren's reflection pops up in the mirror she's using to repin her hair.

"I scored better than Hayley on vault too, even though that's the event Sasha dropped me on."

"Hayley worked her ass off in two rotations she wasn't scheduled to compete," Payson scowls and shoves the pin into her braids harder than necessary. "She only made that step on landing because she was tired."

Still oblivious to Payson's censorious tone, Lauren is reapplying her lipstick. "What? Did you say something?"

Payson decides throwing her wet towel in the laundry bin is more prudent than attempting to shake consideration for others into Lauren.

"You really think that's why I took that step?"

Payson glances up from stuffing her leotard into her backpack to find Hayley, showered and changed too, standing beside her.

"I know it is," Payson zips up her bag and gestures for Hayley to walk beside her as they head to the locker room door to wait for the others. "You did amazing today, Hayley."

"Even though three of my scores were dropped, you mean," Hayley shrugs, attempting lightheartedness but not really succeeding.

It feels a little arrogant to think it, but Payson realises she has no direct experience of what Hayley is feeling. In all the team competitions she's ever participated in, her marks have never been the lowest, so have always contributed to the overall score. But scores aren't everything and it's important Hayley knows that.

"Who kept their head yesterday when the rest of us were falling all over the place? You. Who gave us a great start going into bars and beam? You. Who went and comforted Jana Schneider when she was crying because she fell on bars? You."

Hayley bites her lip around a smile.

"And who helped Lauren untangle her fingers from that ribbon this morning? You." Payson and Hayley chuckle at the memory of Lauren's screeches after realising she'd got her little finger stuck in a braid.

"Okay, so I guess I am kind of awesome." Hayley visibly relaxes as she play acts posing for photographers.

It takes another ten minutes for everyone to be ready. Sasha and the others are waiting outside in the wide hallway. Lauren squeals and runs at her father, who catches her and spins her around in delight, then she jumps up and down squealing again with Darby. Hayley and Beth, laughing at some private joke - perhaps Lauren's battle with her ribbons - skip over to Chris and Jules. Sasha and Marty wait to meet Payson and Kelly.

"Later," Kelly warns, as Sasha is about to speak. Tears prick the corners of her eyes as she pulls away from Marty's hand on her elbow, though belligerence is not quite enough to quell the slight shudder in her left ankle on each step as she follows the others.

The area is full of gymnasts being consoled or congratulated by their coaches. No one looks twice when Payson wordlessly pushes to her toes and puts her arms round Sasha's neck, though, if they did, they might wonder at how tight the gymnast and coach are clinging to each other.


	33. Chapter 33

**CHAPTER THIRTY THREE**

Sasha smacks the emergency stop button on the elevator, bringing them to a shuddering halt. "Pain, one to ten. The truth this time."

"Does it matter?" Kelly snaps. She's got an arm slung round Payson, one teammate taking the weight of the other.

Sasha remains quiet; he can see the fear in her.

"Eight," Kelly relents, wincing as she twists her damaged ankle, trying to stretch the tendons.

"Dr Jake will cortisone you up and you'll be good as new by finals." Payson's holding a desperate smile, the same she's been wearing since she, Kelly, and Sasha entered the hotel elevator and Kelly half collapsed on her, finally ceding to the pain.

"Oh God," Kelly groans, "stop the Pollyanna act before I'm forced to gag you."

Payson meets Sasha's eyes.

"I thought we talked about gymnast on gymnast violence, Kelly," he says.

"Special circumstances," Kelly mutters, but her head tips gently onto Payson's shoulder and she closes her eyes. Payson tightens her hold on Kelly's waist.

 _This is bad_ , Payson's eyes tell Sasha. _I know_ , he says silently back.

"Wait," Kelly says, just as Sasha goes to restart the elevator. One eye is open and trained on her coach. "I know you know I know." Kelly's never been one to waste time on preamble, no matter how sensitive the subject.

"Kelly," Payson murmurs, but Sasha interrupts her with a raised hand.

"Payson told me she told you," he confirms, watching Kelly's reaction.

Kelly studies him. When she speaks again, her tone demands truth. "You love her?"

"Kelly," Payson says again, firmer this time, but Kelly ignores her.

Sasha looks almost pleased by the question, or perhaps the protectiveness behind it. "Yes," he says, quietly but clearly, looking at Kelly without blinking.

It's a few moments before Kelly moves, lifts her head from Payson's shoulder. She continues to read Sasha and he's reminded of everything this girl has been through in her life, every betrayal by those who should have loved her unconditionally.

"And you have a right to know that I intend to resign as National and Rock coach after Worlds."

Payson looks away then, studies the edge of her face in the reflective elevator walls.

"You know, most guys just buy a ring," Kelly says.

Payson breathes a laugh, eyes briefly closing. She hears Sasha's almost embarrassed chuckle. Kelly knocks one of her 'devil horns' against Payson's cheek to get Payson to look at her. She offers a lurid wink and Payson, despite her best efforts, feels her cheeks run red again.

"You gonna restart this thing or not, I don't have all day." Kelly issues the arrogant order with a tired sparkle in her eye.

Sasha slaps the elevator button, making a show of how brow-beaten he is by his gymnasts. If asked, Payson couldn't tell you when it happened, when these two became, outside her family, the most influential people in her life.

* * *

The thirteenth floor is buzzing with activity when the elevator doors split open. A crowd of gymnasts and NGO staff, who made it back from the arena first, are gathered at the hallway intersection.

"Great," Kelly complains, shoving Payson away and choosing to limp rather than let people see her being supported by someone else. "Could we not have got the elevator at our end of the floor?"

"Sorry, your highness, I'll keep that in mind next time," Sasha says, frowning at his clipboard pages of scrawled notes. He wants to get to a TV. China and Romania were in subdivision two and should be done by now.

Lauren's happy babbling can be heard above the general tumult of noise.

"Anyone would think she _made_ the all-around," Kelly scowls, trying to disguise her limp.

Lauren's comment back in the locker room flicks into Payson's mind. "Well, she didn't," Payson mutters, harsh enough for Kelly to notice.

Sasha is walking behind the girls, mind fixed on the genuine likelihood of Kelly's ankle being rehabbed in time for finals. He's so absorbed that he bangs right into Payson's back when she stops dead halfway up the main corridor.

"Sorry," he says automatically, putting a hand on her arm to steady them both. Whatever he was going to say next vanishes the moment he looks over Payson's head.

Blonde hair and a white flowing dress; her back is to him but Sasha has no doubts.

"Summer?"

Under his hand, Sasha feels Payson's muscles snap tight.

"Look who's here!" Lauren shrieks with delight as she spots her teammates and coach. "Isn't this the most awesome surprise ever?!" Bouncing up and down, still high from her good performance, she grabs Summer's hand and pulls her down the corridor toward the others. Summer's laughter rings pure as she cedes to Lauren's excited direction.

Payson has frozen; it takes Kelly's elbow jabbed in her side to get her to squeak out a "Summer, hey," as the ex-Rock manager glides gracefully over to her, looking far more polished and serene than anyone has a right to after a fifteen hour flight.

"Payson," Summer's face colours with sympathy, "you were incredible today, congratulations." Payson finds her hands being taken in Summer's and squeezed. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Payson mumbles.

"That's so good to hear." As Summer talks, Payson can see the older woman's attention continuously darting to Sasha. Her hackles start to rise.

"Lauren didn't say you were coming," Kelly butts in, expertly feigning enthusiasm.

"I had no idea she was!" Lauren beams, bouncing again.

"I wanted it to be a surprise," Summer smiles indulgently at her the girl she once planned to adopt.

"Well you nailed that part," Kelly fake grins widely.

"Welcome to Rio." Sasha finally manages to speak, though he feels as if dry ice has been fed through his veins.

Summer smiles at him as if he just recited a poem, but her smile crumples almost immediately. "Oh my gosh!"

Somehow, she's passed Payson and is standing in front of Sasha, her fingers ghosting over the cuts on his face and she looks ready to burst into tears. "I wanted to call when I heard but..." One hand has automatically strayed to the silver cross that hangs round her neck.

 _You thought he'd slam the phone down on you_ , Payson thinks, spitefully, battling to rein in her emotions and bury them under a blank mask.

"Things have been crazy," Sasha mumbles. He can't settle on a place to look. Summer's so close to him that if he glances down, he'll get a direct view of her cleavage.

"They must have been. I'm so sorry you had to go through this alone," Summer sighs, an etch of guilt creeping into the pity on her face. She's standing an inch closer to Sasha than is usual for someone who doesn't share his bed, or isn't wanting to very soon.

"Are you here for the championships?" Payson wraps the blunt question around a smile she hopes comes off as simply curious. She's never really known jealously before, always thinking it a petty emotion of an insecure person.

"Yes," Summer finally turns her eyes from Sasha, though her body remains where it is. "I wanted to be here for Lauren," she says, almost reverently, and Payson watches the sheen of happy tears glide over Lauren's eyes as the girl grips Summer's hand.

"That's great," Payson murmurs. Maybe she's overreacting, maybe her instincts are off; if Summer is here to see Lauren then Payson should be happy for her teammate.

"Where are you staying?" Kelly asks. She's nonchalantly leaning against the corridor wall hoping everyone else is too distracted to notice how she's shifted all the weight off one foot.

"That's the best part," Lauren gives a little clap, "Coach Conway checked out this morning so Summer's got her room."

"Conway's gone?" Sasha overrides his personal discomfort. "Where's Drea?" he says, urgently.

"Belov, I realise your opinion of me will never be classed as positive," Ellen Beals sidles out of the room a few doors down from where the crowd has gathered, "but it hurts to think you'd believe I'd let the girl be taken away when she was placed under my care. Some of us actually take the burden of responsibility seriously." She smirks at Sasha.

"Where is Drea?" Sasha almost growls, rounding on Ellen.

"Sasha, calm down," Summer murmurs, stepping beside him and putting a hand to his shoulder.

Sasha doesn't like her assumption that she has the authority to take that liberty and, if Payson's stance is anything to go by, she's not happy about it either. This morning, if someone had told him that things could get more complicated than waking up with Payson curled round him and feeling more at peace than he has in years, Sasha wouldn't have believed them.

"Drea is in her room, as she has been all morning, as far as I am aware. I agreed with Coach Conway that some distance between them was probably a good idea right now." Ellen folds her arms. Her eyes dart to Kelly for a second, making a note of how the gymnast is standing.

"You thought her leaving her daughter in a foreign country was a good idea?" Sasha says, still aware of Summer's hand on his arm but knowing there are too many people watching for him to shake it off.

"Can't win with you can I?" Ellen pretends to frown. "I let her go with her mother, I'm irresponsible; I make her stay here, I'm uncaring. Tell me, what would you have done, had you been here?" She makes it sound like Sasha has been off gallivanting around Rio rather than at the team competition.

"What did Drea say?"

Ellen shrugs. "She doesn't know yet."

"Her mother didn't say goodbye?" Summer is shocked.

 _Just like you didn't say goodbye to Lauren_ , both Payson and Sasha think, automatically glancing over Summer's head at each other. They look away just as quickly.

Ellen doesn't miss that exchange either. "I thought it would be best coming from you, Belov. Or at least Marcus did and I am but here to serve." Her bitterness at having to cede to someone else's instructions is obvious.

Sasha looks at nothing for a moment, fixing a plan for the girls; they need structure, even if his world is seemingly spinning without focus.

"Hayley, Beth." He calls the rest of the team and they jog down the corridor from where they've been talking to Jules.

"Ok," he says, noting how Summer takes a place at his side like she used to do when she worked at the Rock. He doesn't believe it's arrogance that is warning him she is not just here for Lauren, though he wishes it was.

"You made a great start today, a great start, but it was only a start so I don't want anyone getting carried away. We've still got a hell of a mountain to climb." He breaks his serious expression for just a second. "But I'm damn sure you've got the ability to make it all the way to the top." He pauses, making sure to meet each gymnasts eyes.

"We're not in the training hall tomorrow. Wait." He raises a hand as Hayley mouths a silent 'yes' and Lauren shoots a delighted smile at Summer. "This is a rest day not a tourist day, so Hayley if I hear any mention of a new Facebook photo I will personally lock you in the gym. Sleep in, then get some sun - since you all have balconies and I don't." He mock frowns to make them smile.

"I know you're bored with me saying it, but stamina is vital, so in the afternoon I want cardio sessions from all of you, and there is indoor pool you all need to get familiar with lapping." He stops and stares at them. No one moves. "Go on, get out of here; first one who gets me the current quali standing has ten less laps tomorrow."

Hayley and Beth bolt for the TVs in their rooms but Lauren folds her arms and bats her eyelashes at her coach. "Can't we do laps in the outdoor pools?"

"The outdoor pools that have cocktail bars sunk in them? No."

Lauren's wide eyes disintegrate into her perfected look of withering disgust. "Wevs." She bursts into sunshine when she faces Summer.

"Come see my room! And then you have to meet Darby, I have told her _so_ much about you. And I want to show you the new leos we got, and the dress I have for this party we all have to go to. It's like white and it's got like this glittery shoulder..."

"In a minute," Summer says, soothingly, before Lauren can launch into the history of her new dress. "I'll catch you up." Lauren gives her a final bouncy hug then practically skips away down the corridor without even glancing at the others.

"My ankle's fine _bee-tee-dub_ ," Kelly mutters, placing as much sarcasm on the acronym as she can. She eases herself off the wall then pauses.

"You coming, Keeler?" she asks, for once unsure as to what she should do.

It's obvious Summer wants a moment with Sasha, and Ellen Beals is still hovering, revelling in sadistic enjoyment at the awkwardness of it all.

Payson is too busy counting to twenty to hear Kelly at first. She will not let herself be flustered by Summer's arrival; it bears no relation to what happened with Sasha last night; she will be calm and confident until she has more information.

"Pay?" Sasha murmurs.

She shoots Sasha a neutral smile and hopes the thrum that went through her blood when Sasha said her name like that doesn't show. "We'll go check the scores." She offers the same smile to Summer and Ellen.

"Well covered," Kelly mutters as they walk up the corridor.

"Thanks," Payson manages to mutter back. The tension in her jaw is at breaking point.

"No training hall tomorrow, that's either very generous or very stupid," Ellen offers when the girls are gone.

"And I know which one you're betting on," Sasha glares back.

Summer seems a little taken aback at the open animosity. _She has been away from the Rock a while_ , Sasha thinks; this conversation has been relatively civil.

"Well, I'll leave you two to it. I'm sure you have a lot to catch up on." Ellen arches an eyebrow at Sasha and turns back into the room she's commandeered from Darby, who is now bunking in with Jules.

The corridor that seemed so small and crowded not five minutes ago now feels enormous, vats of quiet air washing around them.

"It's really good to see you, Sasha," Summer says, stepping in front of him again. He's forgotten how open her face is, how she says what she thinks without filter. He once found it alluring, now it just makes him uncomfortable.

"Does Steve know you're here?"

Her eyes cast down for a moment. "I spoke to him from the airport; thought it only right to give him some warning, considering."

 _Could have done with some warning myself_ , Sasha thinks, _and wasn't it friendly of Steve not to share at breakfast this morning_. His annoyance must show.

"I wanted to surprise you as well as Lauren," Summer explains, quietly.

Sasha swallows. _Bloody wonderful._ The one time he hoped his assumption that a woman liked him _was_ simply arrogance.

"Summer..."

"When I heard what happened with Aundrea, I knew Lauren would need me."

"It's just Drea." Sasha corrects, eyeing the garishly coloured artwork on the wall, grateful for something to train his attention on.

"Sasha, I have felt just awful these past weeks. I promised Lauren I'd always be there for her and then I walked away. It was Steve I was really mad at, and I took it out on an innocent child who had made a mistake and needed my guidance not my censure."

Sasha wonders how many hours Summer has spent at church talking with her minister and putting that particular spin on events.

"Lauren's happy you're here," he says, wanting this conversation to end.

Summer peers up at him from under her lashes. "Just Lauren?"

Sasha sighs just as Hayley's voice bellows down the corridor, "China's hit 133.196 with one rotation to go!"

"That's great, Hales, thanks," Sasha yells back. "Look, Summer, I really have to go..."

"Oh, I completely understand," Summer says, "but can we talk later? Sasha, I have so much I want to tell you, so much I've been thinking about since we've been apart."

She makes it sound like he's the fiancé she left, not Steve.

"I have to concentrate on the girls right now."

Summer either doesn't want to hear it or doesn't want to take the hint. "It's so good to see you." Before Sasha can move away, she's pushing up to her tiptoes and laying a lingering kiss to his cheek. "I was so worried." Her hand wipes over his back as she walks behind him and into her room.

Sasha is too flustered to see the pair of blue eyes that have been watching the entire encounter from round the corner disappear.


	34. Chapter 34

**CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR**

"So Sister Mary Sunshine out there used to date your boy?" Kelly's sitting on the end of the bath tub, her legs immersed up to her calves in cold water.

"Yup," Payson says, throwing a bucket of ice into the tub.

Kelly winces but is too stubborn to yell in pain as the freezing water laps round her ankles. The left one is visibly red. "And they broke up because?"

"I don't know the details." Payson hurls a second bucket of ice in with such force that one of the cubes bounces back out the tub onto the floor.

"And you're not worried, I suppose." Kelly flicks a bit of ice off her thigh.

"Why should I be worried?" Payson says, stacking the empty buckets together and slamming them down on the sink unit.

Kelly shrugs. "Ex back on the scene? I know you're new at this whole relationship thing but when the ex comes sniffing around it's generally time to mark your territory."

Payson slaps the cold tap on again. "So, what? I'm supposed to pee on him?" she snaps, over the rush of running water.

"Okay, one, ew," Kelly rolls her bad ankle in the lapping water, "and, two, _ew_."

"She said she's here to see Lauren." Payson glares into the mirror as she starts to undo her intricate braids.

Kelly scoffs. "Oh come on, you don't believe that any more than I do. I could smell her damn pheromones the second I got off the elevator."

Payson pulls at her hair, not caring that it stings. "Kelly, can we please just concentrate on qualification."

"Whatever, Keeler," Kelly grips the side of the tub as a wave of pain shoots through her ankle. Payson notices but doesn't say anything. "And do you want to turn the tap off before you flood the room?"

Payson shuts the tap down. "I trust Sasha," she says, firmly.

In just hotpants and a sports bra, Kelly is gripping the edge of the tub as she gingerly swishes her ankle through the ice bath. "And I'm not saying you shouldn't."

"Good," Payson snaps, folding her arms and looking away.

"But," Kelly prompts, almost gentle.

Though it's not official yet, Payson knows she's done enough to make the all-around final, and her team just laid down a hell of a score, against all odds. She's so mad at herself for not being able to feel joy for those achievements right now. This is why she swore she would never fall in love before she was wearing an Olympic gold medal.

"What the hell am I doing, Kelly?" Payson whispers, staring at the wall tiles.

"You're living your life."

"My life is supposed to be gymnastics." Payson twists to look at Kelly.

"Yeah," Kelly laughs, her pain echoing through the room, "and we both know how that story ends or do you need me to bullet point my life for you again."

Quiet, just the hum of the commentary on the TV in the main room they both can't help but keep one ear open to.

Payson perches on the side of the tub. "I was so sure last night," she murmurs.

"Sure of what?" Kelly starts to unravel her bunches, tossing hairpins at the sink unit. Most of them ping to the floor.

"Of him? Of him and me? I don't know," Payson sighs from the depth of each lung. "That I didn't care what other people thought?"

"And now 'cause Sister Mary Ten Commandments shows up you're suddenly all 'oh I'm a sinner, oh I must repent for banging my hot boyfriend last night'?" Kelly wrinkles her nose. She has a long ringlet of hair hanging from one bun.

"This has nothing to do with her religion," Payson says sharply. "And I didn't bang my hot boyfriend."

"Ok, so the silver cross hasn't got you shaking like a vampire – what is it then?"

Payson's fingers are entwined in her heart necklace. "Moment of doubt, maybe?"

Kelly stops her hair styling. "About Sasha?"

"No," Payson says immediately, "never. Just," she pauses, trying to find the words, "I guess doubt that I'm doing the right thing."

"Don't you get it already?" Kelly murmurs, squinting with frustration. "There is no _right_ thing, there are just different choices."

Payson stares at her teammate. The goose-bumps on her arms have nothing to do with the patches of cold water speckling her bare feet. "I've always thought that there was a right choice and a wrong choice."

Kelly's lip quirks and she goes back to taking her hair out of its warrior style. "That's what people say who don't have the balls to go with their gut instinct. Never took you for a coward, Keeler."

* * *

"Is Mom coming back?" Drea picks at the edge of the bedspread. Cross-legged, she's sitting in the middle of her mattress, curls tumbling over her face.

Sasha looks to the ceiling. He honestly doesn't know which answer Drea is hoping to hear. "She didn't say."

Drea nods. She picks up the Yankee cap lying beside her, traces the embossed Y. Beth is in the shower and the water heater rumbles through the room.

"How are you feeling?" Sasha asks, gently. He's commandeered the desk chair.

Drea shrugs one shoulder. "Are they mad?"

"Are who mad?"

"The others? I mean, I know Beth's forgiven me but..." Drea stops, puts the cap in her lap and switches her attention to plaiting a thin braid into her blonde hair.

Sasha sighs, goes to scratch at his cuts but diverts the gesture to his neck in time. Drea has just been told her only family has pretty much abandoned her and she's more concerned about letting her teammates down. He never bothered to get to know this child, her selfless attitude, and it reinforces his decision to resign after Worlds; Drea deserves so much better than him.

"Payson's going to come by in a bit," Sasha says. "She's worried about you."

At Payson's name, Drea's head snaps up and she wipes hair from her eyes. "Really?"

Sasha smiles. "Really."

"Okay." Drea nods. She thinks for a moment. "Sasha?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think I could call my brother?"

Sasha sits up straighter. "You have a brother?"

Drea stretches to her bedside table, opens the drawer and digs around. She drags out a worn envelope. "His name's Ryan. His dad was my dad too." She hands Sasha a well thumbed photograph. A guy in his late teens, with short sandy brown hair, is giving Drea a piggy back in a garden. Drea's laughing. She must be about ten.

"You see him much?" Sasha hands back the picture; Drea tucks it very carefully into the envelope.

"Not much," she answers, her voice starting to shake again.

"I can call him for you, if you want?" Sasha offers. There's a knock at the door just as Drea starts to nod, swiping at her eyes. "I'll get that," Sasha stands and crosses the room.

"Hey," Payson says, a little too quickly, when he pulls the door open. "I didn't realise you were... I can come back?"

"No, no, it's fine, she wants to see you," Sasha replies, hand already straying forward to stop Payson walking away.

"Ok," Payson nods. She starts to fiddle with her hair; it's wet from the shower. Sasha wants to catch her fingers. There's so much he needs to say.

"China's done. They're in second. Russia have just started." Payson tells him, eyes boring into his. He remembers last night, the fire in her faith.

"I didn't know Summer was going to be here," Sasha finds himself whispering.

Payson's stepped inside the room and he hasn't backed away. She places a hand on his chest, on the healing ribs she kissed this morning.

"I know you didn't," Payson murmurs, glancing over Sasha's shoulder. As she doesn't spring away, Sasha assumes Drea's still preoccupied with her brother's picture and whatever else was in that thick envelope and is paying them no attention. "But is she _just_ here for Lauren?"

Sasha forces himself not to look away.

"Right," Payson nods, seeing the answer. "Guess it wouldn't be that smart for me to go tell her you're already spoken for, would it?" She smiles, though her struggle is obvious.

"You made the world all-around final today, Payson, that's what I want you thinking about. You let me worry about everything else for now." Sasha puts a hand over the one she has on his chest.

" _We_ made the all-around final today," Payson tells him, "and don't..."

"Payson?" Drea's thin voice prises them apart. Sasha's back in his chair and Payson's beside the bed before they even realise they've moved.

"How you doing?" Payson says, smiling. "Can I sit down?"

Drea nods enthusiastically and shuffles over, even though there is plenty of room on the bed.

"Why don't I leave you to it," Sasha says, as he gets up.

"This is Ryan's number." Drea holds out a piece of paper. There's more hope and fear in her than Sasha's ever seen.

"I'll let you know as soon as I've spoken to him."

Payson frowns a little and Sasha makes a silent 'later' gesture. He offers them both a final smile then leaves, pulling the door shut behind him.

In the corridor, he unfurls the piece of paper. A cell number is neatly printed. He leans back against the door and offers up a prayer on Drea's behalf; whether the child believes or not, she always wears a simple gold cross round her neck.

* * *

"So Beth was telling me that you guys know all the lines to Stick It?" Payson says, trying to coax Drea into conversation.

"Yeah," Drea says quietly, adding another braid to her hair and not looking at Payson.

"I've never seen it," Payson lies.

"You haven't?" Drea looks up, incredulousness turning her bold. "Do you want to? I mean, if you don't that's totally fine, but Sasha found us a copy and we have it right here if you..."

Payson would need a stone cold heart to ignore the plea in Drea's wide eyes, even if she really wants to get back to her room and watch the rest of qualifying. "You think Beth would mind watching it again?"

"No!" The bathroom door bursts open and a fully clothed, wet haired Beth spills out.

"Have you been listening this whole time?" Payson pretends to be annoyed and shoots a conspiratorial wink at Drea, who chuckles behind her hand.

Beth thinks. "Define whole time?"

Payson rolls her eyes as Beth flits off to set up the laptop. She glances at Drea. "I'm sorry about your mom," she says, quiet enough for Beth not to hear.

Fury flashes across Drea's face but it's gone as quickly as it arrived. "I don't want to see her anyway," Drea says, though it's an obvious lie.

"We're going to make sure you're ok," Payson reassures, not really knowing what else to say. Maybe Kelly should talk to Drea later; at least she'll understand what the girl's going through.

Drea seems to sink into herself. "You don't hate me?" she mumbles.

"Why would we hate you?" Payson lays a soft hand on Drea's tiny back.

One shoulder shrugs. "Because I screwed up the team. But, you have to believe me," she suddenly looks straight at Payson, "I really thought there'd be someone to take my place, I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't, I didn't want to hurt you guys, I really didn't but..."

"It's all right," Payson soothes, "no one hates you, ok? And if anyone says you screwed up the team you send them to me and I'll set them straight." She strokes Drea's hair away from the girl's face. Drea's the same age as Becca.

Whether Drea believes her or not, Payson isn't sure. She props up some cushions, creates a den for the three of them, as Beth lays the laptop at the foot of the bed, screen alight.

As Payson watches Drea get up to turn the lights off and plunge the room into a fake cinema, she wonders at the amount of time it would have taken for the girl to plan what she did. Cocaine was a well-reasoned choice - enough to get her disqualified but nothing to indicate she was trying to improve her performance - so there's no way this was a rash action. Obtaining the drug wouldn't have been quick either. Drea couldn't have got it off some street dealer - Coach Conway wouldn't have let her daughter out of her sight that long - so it would have to have been a gym contact. Payson is furious with the yet unidentified gymnast who, faced with a depressed and desperate fifteen year old, handed over a baggy of cocaine instead of trying to help. So much for a club being like a family.

"Ready?" Drea queries, dropping on the bed and settling down beside Payson.

"Hit it, Beth," Payson says.

Beth, sprawling on her stomach, chin on hands, feet waggling up near Payson's face, taps the space bar and the movie starts.

Payson watches the movie without seeing. Drea sinks against her as the minutes pass and Payson slips an arm round her shoulders, pulling her near, wondering when was the last time this girl was hugged.


	35. Chapter 35

**CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE**

"Physios suck," Kelly gripes, snatching her jacket off the floor.

"As you've told me several times in the past," Marty says. "But unless elves are going to come into your room tonight and fix your ankle with their magic dust, you need to go see Mandy."

Kelly glares at her coach. "Elves don't have magic dust, fairies do. Get your facts straight." She shoves her gym bag at Marty, then, head held high, struts from the room trying - and failing - to conceal her limp.

Payson, cross-legged on her bed, feels her smile fade as she looks at Marty. "She's scared."

Marty nods, sighing deeply as he shoulders Kelly's bag. "I know she is."

Payson falls back on her mattress when Marty closes the door. It's as much strategy meeting with Mandy and Dr Jake as it is treatment, planning how best to rehab Kelly's ankle over the next few days. If they can't get the joint to a certain level, Kelly will be benched and lose the chance to defend her all-around title. She may even have to forfeit her place in the team and event finals too.

Pulling a pillow over her face, Payson growls her frustration at the situation into the fabric before hurling it across the room. She slaps both palms once against the mattress, then closes her eyes and breathes deep; she can't afford to waste energy getting emotional.

It's dark outside, so, trying to keep her mind clear, Payson climbs from the bed to pull the curtain across the french windows and snap on the main light. She changes into her cheerleading shorts and an oversized t-shirt, then moves round the room shoving all of Kelly's discarded clothes, magazines, water bottles, and hair products back onto her already messy side of the room.

She's just texted MJ asking if they can push back their breakfast meeting with the Grrrl Bar rep to lunchtime tomorrow, since she wants to get as much rest as possible, when there's a sharp knock. Jogging across the room, Payson pulls the door open without checking the peephole, already anticipating who will be on the other side.

"Room service for the future World Champ?" Sasha says, with a half-smile, as he steps over the threshold.

The door has barely swung shut when Payson, emotions overspilling, pins Sasha up against it, kissing him hard. He tries to match her desperate energy, surprised hands rubbing up under her baggy t-shirt and along her bare thighs but soon he has to break the kiss, panting, "I'm not a well man, Payson." A playful smile coats his mouth, but his pain at Payson's rough treatment is suddenly obvious to her.

"Oh my god!" She backs away likes she's stabbed him. "I'm so sorry!" She puts a hand over her flushed face and turns away, glancing at the curtained off french windows and contemplating throwing herself through them.

"Trust me, I wouldn't normally complain," Sasha chuckles, stepping away from the door, rubbing his ribs.

"Well, at least I didn't take Kelly's advice and pee all over you and I _cannot_ believe i just said that out loud!" Payson moans as she flops backwards onto her bed, dragging another pillow over her face.

"You want me to pretend I didn't hear it?"

Payson issues an affirmative mumble as she tries to suffocate herself.

"Can do."

"If you didn't hear it then why are you still laughing?" Payson glares through her fingers up at Sasha.

Sasha's lips tremble as he tries very, very hard to look serious. "I'm not laughing, I've just developed a tic when I'm in a fifty mile radius of Ellen Beals. I'm seeing Dr Jake about it tomorrow."

Payson seizes ammunition from behind her and throws it at him, then sits up spluttering further apologies when her pillow hits the bad side of Sasha's face.

"Come here," Sasha chuckles as he sits down next to Payson and pulls her into a hug.

"I hate being needy," Payson grumps. "And, great, now I'm whiny too." She presses her face into Sasha's shoulder so her treacherous mouth can't humiliate her further.

"Payson, the last word I'd ever use to describe you is 'needy'."

"What else would you describe it as, then? Your ex shows up and suddenly I'm all 'have to mark my territory by jumping you and nearly killing you'? And...hey! Why aren't you telling me I'm not whiny either?" Payson pulls her face free and glowers at him, a censure slightly weakened by the curl of her lips as they try to smile.

Sasha strokes a tendril of blonde away from her cheek, his calmness unwavering.

"Today was really long," Payson sighs deeply, laying her head on Sasha's shoulder.

"And complicated," Sasha fills in, continuing to stroke her hair.

"And complicated," Payson repeats. "I'm so sorry I didn't remind you about changing Beth's index cards."

"Not your fault," Sasha says, quickly, and Payson feels him tense for the first time. "That's on me."

Payson wants to disagree but her rational brain is finally rebooting and she knows any attempt to reassure him would be futile.

"Will Kelly get a cortisone shot tonight?" she asks instead.

"Yup. I had a chat with Marty, Mandy, and Dr Jake earlier. Figured it was better if I wasn't there now - three people trying to tell Kelly what to do is more than enough already."

"Are you mad at Marty?" Payson leans back so she can look at Sasha.

Sasha pushes a kiss to her forehead, sighing deep, "I should be. But…" he hesitates, shrinking into himself a little.

Payson kisses his jaw; she hates that she's had enough examples of what Sasha's guilt looks like that she recognises it immediately.

"Part of me's glad they lied to us," Payson confesses so that Sasha doesn't have to. "The idea of you having to leave Kelly in Boulder, after everything that's happened…" Her eyes close briefly as Sasha's palm cups her cheek. "When does the decision about whether she competes or not have to be made?"

"Forty eight hours. Gives us rest and test time for Kelly; leaves a day for a reshuffle of the team if necessary."

"And gives Lauren three days to prep for all-around if she's called up," Payson tries not to sound bitter; it's not Lauren's fault she stands to gain from Kelly's injury.

"I spoke to Drea's brother earlier," Sasha says, diverting Payson's attention.

"She's got a brother?" Payson's surprise quickly turns into relief. "That's great."

"Yeah, and he'll be here tomorrow. Guy was booking a flight before he put the phone down."

"That's really great," Payson repeats, her gaze suddenly distant again as she thinks, _seems people flying in unexpectedly is becoming common: Kaylie, Drea's brother, and..._

"Talk to me," Sasha murmurs. Gently, he eases her down on to the mattress so they are lying on their sides facing each other.

Payson concentrates on Sasha's neck as she plays with his t-shirt collar. "I was jealous when I saw Summer here," she admits quietly, still annoyed at her heart for feeling that emotion. "Which is stupid because I trust you."

Sasha dusts the back of his fingers up and down Payson's thigh. "You know," he says, thickly, "if Nicky Russo had made the men's team, having him here and around you would have thrown me for a loop too."

Payson's face is smushed up against the pillow they are sharing, the only one she hasn't tossed across the room.

"So you knew about that?" It seems absurd now, the fear she once had of Sasha finding out she was violating his no-dating rule.

"I knew there was something going on," he admits, "but I didn't know details."

Payson huffs a laugh. "There weren't really any details to know. Nothing really happened with us." She frowns. It's been a long time since Nicky Russo even crossed her mind. "I mean, there might of been details to know if I hadn't got injured at Nationals but…" Payson trails off, stomach running cold.

"What is it?" Sasha murmurs, hand coming up under her shirt to stroke her waist.

Payson hesitates. She has no recollection of her and Sasha ever discussing her plan to use cortisone at Nationals, but her memory of that time is so clouded by trauma-haze that's it's possible they did when he visited her in hospital, or that her parents told him.

"Nicky was the one who gave me the cortisone," she admits, without preamble, watching Sasha's reaction carefully.

A spasm runs through his jaw and anger pulses through his eyes but Payson sees no surprise there, which she translates as him knowing about the cortisone but not its source.

"I even thought it was romantic that he didn't charge me for it," she continues, quickly, "and I've spent the afternoon being furious with the person at Drea's gym who must have got her the cocaine but... but what if whoever it was thought they were helping her?"

Payson shuffles even closer to Sasha, wanting to hide from all the confusion. "I've dreamed of this day since I was a kid," she says, quietly. "World Championships going into an Olympic year. End of day one and I'm where I wanted to be, four event finals, the all-around final, the team qualifying top."

"But?" Sasha speaks the word swimming silently between them.

"It's not what I thought it would be like."

Sasha gives her a minute, waits, casted arm resting over her waist.

"I guess I'm still getting used to the fact I've chosen to let other things than gymnastics into my life."

"Do you wish you hadn't?" Sasha asks, no judgement in the question.

"No," Payson frowns, "I love you, I love my family, and it's the weirdest thing but I think I kind of love Kelly." She sighs a smile which fades too fast. "But I could have locked all that out and just poured everything into my gymnastics." She looks at him then, green eyes alight with confusion. "If I'd have done that, would I be happy now?"

Sasha adjusts his body a fraction, shifts his weight into a slightly less broken part of his ribcage. "Are you not happy now?"

Bringing her face close enough to Sasha's so their noses rest against each other, Payson studies the dimples in his skin, the rough hairs growing along his jaw, the pieces of ripped skin fusing together in lines of red scars. "I'm happy with you. Everything else? Honestly, I have no idea."

Sasha's sigh tickles across her chin. "I wish I could give you answers, Payson."

"I know," Payson reassures, rubbing his cast, scratching the rough plaster with her nails. "And I don't expect you to have the answers, Sasha. I don't even think there are answers, I...I just hate when there aren't answers." She pouts a little, exaggerating it for Sasha's amusement. He nips at her lower lip and she tugs him into a kiss.

"I can give you one answer," he mumbles against her lips.

"And what's that?" she murmurs back, enjoying watching his eyes this close, learning their different colours.

He pulls his lips away and almost startles Payson with the intensity in his expression as he stares at her. "I love you," he murmurs, before kissing her again, firmer this time, hand cupping round the back of her head and pulling her close. She drapes a leg over his thigh, scratches her fingers through his short hair, kisses his mouth then gently works her way up his face, lips trembling beside his scars.

"I love you too," she whispers as Sasha kisses her neck, moulds his lips round her throat to feel her breathe. "I'm not hurting you this time, am I?" she says, sliding a hand up under his shirt, her pulse hammering.

"Don't care," Sasha murmurs, turning his attention back to her mouth.

Payson licks the inside of his lower lip, smiles when she feels him shake and does it again. She giggles when, with a small growl, he rolls her onto her back, nuzzling into her neck as retaliation, but the giggles die just as fast. He hovers above her, weight pressing her down. She crooks a knee up beside his thigh, her hands under his t-shirt and rubbing slow circles on his lower back. She feels like she's overheating, every sense alert and alarmed and demanding more.

"I don't want to rush you," he whispers, running a protective hand down her face.

Payson leans up and kisses him hard. "I don't want to hurt you," she whispers, voice bubbling in her throat. Adrenaline shoots through her bloodstream at the flash of want in Sasha's eyes. Daring, she starts to ease his t-shirt up, this time carefully peeling it from both arms before easing it over his head then tossing it to the floor.

"Like I said," Sasha says, pulling her up so they're sitting, Payson shifting to straddle his lap, "I don't care." Her t-shirt comes off in one move, both of them wrenching it away then surging into one each other, naked chests pressed together as they ride an almost vicious kiss. Sasha's cast scrapes against Payson's bare back as he holds her tight in his lap; her fingers scratch hard into his skull.

Light catches in Payson's eyes when she separates her mouth briefly from Sasha's, catches their gaze as she tightens her thighs against his waist and tips back onto the mattress, pulling him on top of her.

* * *

Kelly's ankle is blessedly numb as she walks slowly up the empty corridor, Marty having decamped to the bar for a 'medicinal night cap' after shutting down every one of her reasons why she had just as much right, if not more, to be sitting on the bar stool next to him.

Forty eight hours, she has forty eight hours to prove she's capable of competing as scheduled. The voice in her head repeating this countdown unsurprisingly sounds exactly like her mother's, which is reason in itself to tell her brain to fuck off for the night.

Jiggling the door handle as she inserts the card key, Kelly waits impatiently for the lock to flick green then pushes into the room. She has a bag of chips stowed in her suitcase, contraband she intends to wash down with an exorbitantly priced diet coke from the mini bar. Except, apparently her feast will have to wait.

 _Oh so predictable_ , she thinks, standing beside the ensuite divider wall and peering round it at her roommate's bed.

Payson is curled up next to Sasha, a protective arm thrown over his waist. They're both shirtless and asleep. Kelly makes a note to tease Payson tomorrow about keeping the lights on.

Easing back into the corridor, Kelly shuts the door quietly then sinks down against the wall and fetches a book from her gym bag. She'll give them half an hour, then take two very loud minutes opening the door to give them time to dress. Actually, maybe only one very loud minute; their expressions at being caught will be far too good to miss completely.

Stretching out her legs, Kelly opens her book. She likes to bring an epic with her to championships, this time it's _The Stand_ by Stephen King. From the other rooms, she hears the rumble of televisions and laptops. If anyone comes out to the hall, she'll use the book as an excuse; that she wanted to read while Payson wanted to sleep.

The words swim on the page a little at first when she tries to read. Sasha's chest had been scorched with bruises, evidence of the accident Kelly hasn't seen before. She remembers her fear that night, that had it been her in the bed, broken and bleeding, there would have been no one to call.

Before she goes back to her book, Kelly calls up her text messages. Her inbox is full of messages from various Keelers. Becca's been spamming her with photos of Phoebe, Kim has found an excuse to text everyday, and Payson, in lieu of being slapped for over-sentimentality, has taken to sending encouraging quotes punctuated with xoxos.

Eyes damp, Kelly shoots off three messages.

 _Don't think i won't sue that mutt for harassment, baby keeler_

 _Yeah, think those are my socks. I'm okay, just saw the doc, gotta love those needles. Bear says hi xx_

 _Just a warning, if you send me any Disney quotes, i'm deleting your number. xoxo_

* * *

At the rattle, Payson groans. It can't bed morning yet; she will be writing a strongly worded letter to Mother Nature if morning has come already. Another rattle. Rattle. Somewhere in her brain it registers that the sound can be classed as rattling, not as the electronic bleat of an alarm clock.

"Oh, how I wish they would bring back keys, I simply can't get the hang of these new-fangled cards."

Why is Kelly talking so loudly at this time? Kelly hates mornings much more than Payson. Yawning, Payson nuzzles her face into the mattress. Which is not a mattress, unless her mattress suddenly grew a rib cage over night.

"I am such a butter fingers, now I've gone and dropped it on the floor." More rattling.

Payson blinks one open. Hang on. The light in the room is too yellow for daylight, and the ribcage mattress under her cheek just breathed.

"Oh shit. Sasha wake up!" Payson is off the bed fast as a whip crack. She looks at her clock. Ten thirty. _PM_.

"Ok," the door rattles harder, "come on _key_ I'm getting bored now."

"Sasha!" Payson kneels on the bed and shakes Sasha by his good arm.

Extremely bleary eyes tip round and peer up at her. Payson really wishes she didn't recognise that expression.

"You've overdone your medication again, haven't you?" she hisses, pushing her hands under Sasha's back and easing him up to a sitting position then moving round to kneel in front of him, hands on his shoulders.

"Huh?" Sasha looks at her through heavily hooded eyes. His query turns into a yawn and he's too dopey to stop the gesture before it stretches his sore cuts. "Shit," he moans, hand coming up to press against his stinging jaw. Pain brings him round a little but there's still only a hint of coherence in his eyes. "What's going on?" he blinks hard, scrubbing at his face, though Payson stops his fingers when they stray too close to injured skin.

"I think it's called we're busted," she says urgently.

Brain still addled, Sasha merely continues to blink at her.

"We fell asleep and...oh never mind, come on." Payson abandons any attempt to explain, instead moving her energies to getting Sasha off the bed and into the bathroom. He seems to want to co-operate, even if his body is struggling to let him, because he's soon standing without much coaxing from Payson, and taking exceedingly wobbly steps toward the bathroom.

"Here," Payson scoops his t-shirt off the floor and hurls it into the bathroom, "get dressed."

"Ihavenoideawhat'sgoingonrightnow." The words run into one long, babbled sentence as Sasha turns in the doorway, only one eye open, swaying on his feet, wearing the most adorable look of confusion Payson has ever seen.

"I'm confiscating your meds," Payson tells him as she pushes to her tiptoes to kiss him lightly. The shove she presses to his shoulders isn't quite as light, but as she hears no yelps of pain as she shuts the bathroom door in his face she figures no lasting damage has been done. She sighs, then looks down at herself. Crap. Where the hell did they throw her t-shirt? Covering her bare chest, she ducks down and starts scanning the carpet. At least the rattling has stopped. She stills. Wait. The rattling has stopped.

"Looking for this?" Kelly asks innocently, clasping Payson's t-shirt between forefinger and thumb. She's standing just inside the front door. Payson hadn't realised they'd thrown the t-shirt so far; the competitor in her is slightly proud.

Payson opens her mouth and then closes it again. She clears her throat and, with all the dignity she can muster, which considering she's wearing shorts that barely cover her butt and clasping a boob in each hand, isn't much, she walks across the room and takes her t-shirt out of Kelly's hands with her teeth.

"Hold on a moment." Payson wants to say it with aplomb and poise but, as her mouth is full of cotton and she's just realised her shorts are rucked up so one butt cheek is exposed to the world, it comes out more as an undignified mumble.

"Can I just say," Kelly's grin is as bright as a hundred watt light bulb, "that you have just made an exceedingly crappy day not quite awesome, but definitely better."

Having turned away to put on her t-shirt, Payson sighs. "Next time how about I just buy you something?"

"Hell no, Keeler, you know the commercial, there are some things money can't buy."

This is bad, it's unprofessional, it's not fair on Kelly, it's embarrassing for Sasha, but, as Payson turns back to her teammate, modesty now just about covered, she can't hold down her laughter. "I'm so sorry," she chuckles, because, seriously? How ridiculous is this situation.

"Don't worry about it." Tears of laughter are welling in Kelly's eyes. "Though you really need to learn how to use a 'do not disturb' sign."

Payson puts a hand over her mouth as the giggles worsen.

"Go get your boy," Kelly chokes out, catching her breath and flapping at her hot face. "You got me risking laughter lines over here."

Mustering her composure, Payson eases the bathroom door open, poking her head through the narrow gap. She bites at her smile as she she moves inside. Sasha's sitting on the closed toilet lid, head bent over, fast asleep.

"Sasha?" she murmurs quietly, still smiling as she crouches down in front of him and brushes her fingers over his good cheek, his stubble catching over her skin in a way she's come to find comforting. "Hey sleepy-head, time to wake up again."

"Don't you call him sweetie or baby or anything?"

"Kelly, get out of here," Payson spins round and hisses at the door where Kelly's head is floating in the gap.

Kelly isn't the least bit admonished. "And he put his shirt on," she pouts, "spoil sport."

"This is a dream, right?" Sasha's head moves a fraction of an inch. "A very, very bad dream?"

"I'm afraid not." Payson has to kiss him then, even her willpower isn't enough to hold out against the adorably bewildered eyes that blink slowly up to look at her.

He issues a giant sigh. "Kelly?"

"She's by the door," Payson glares again as Kelly grins back.

"Kelly, you have my sincere apologies. It was completely unprofessional and irresponsible for me to be here tonight. It will not happen again." Every syllable spreads out slowly, and even then there is some slurring. Payson sobers sharply.

"Seriously, don't worry about it," Kelly says, sobering too and stepping properly into the room. "How much has he taken?" she whispers to Payson, concern obvious.

"How do you think he's been getting through such long days?" Payson whispers back.

"I'm medicated, not deaf," Sasha sighs, accepting Payson's assistance as he tries to stand.

"Are you going to be ok by yourself?" Payson says, looking up at him, entirely serious now.

Sasha reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a pill pot. He gives it a rattle then pockets it again before Payson can read the label. "I took some just before I came to see you; they kicked in faster than I expected, that's all." He half-smiles. "I promise I won't choke in my sleep."

"Why would you even suggest that?" Payson slaps his arm, frowning.

Sasha keeps his tired smile until Payson's frown relents. She's tempted to make a lame joke about it actually being a pill pot in this pocket earlier but since such a comment would give Kelly ammunition for all eternity, she holds it back, instead opting for the less tension breaking, "were you wearing shoes?"

Once it's been established that Sasha was not wearing shoes when he came by, and they're all back out in the main room in a decent state of dress, Sasha turns to Kelly again. "I really am sorry I got you involved in this situation." There is deep shame in his expression.

"It's ok," Kelly says, kindly.

Sasha's looking at the carpet but his face loosens somewhat. "I'll see you both in the morning."

"Lie in, remember?" Payson says.

"Right," Sasha nods slowly, "lie in."

Payson squeezes his fingers briefly, knowing he won't want any other contact in front of Kelly, but unable to hold back her worry. The lie in is a luxury for her and Kelly but she knows how important it is for Sasha's health right now.

"Good night," he says, squeezing Payson's fingers in return as Kelly makes herself busy opening the door and checking the corridor.

"Coast is clear," she announces and Sasha steps from the room after a last glance at Payson.

* * *

"What's he say?" Kelly asks. The room is dark apart from the glowing light of Payson's phone.

"I think he just mashed the keypad and pressed send," Payson answers, tapping deftly then locking her cell and dropping it on the mattress beside her.

Kelly yawns. She's on her side, facing toward Payson's bed. The room is now pitch black. "At least that means he made it back to his room without wandering off."

"Yeah," Payson sighs.

"You're worried about him," Kelly says, dragging a pillow to her chest to lean on.

There's a rustling in the dark as Payson shifts to get comfortable, probably wishing she wasn't alone in her bed. "You know, part of me's almost glad he's quitting the national team and the Rock," she murmurs, "at least then he'll have a chance to recover properly." Her next words are muffled, as if spoken through a comforter. "That's a terrible thing to think, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's so terrible to worry about the damage your boyfriend is doing to his health by pushing himself this hard and popping pills every five minutes," Kelly rolls her eyes then winces. She didn't mean to be that blunt. Payson's silence is long.

"Can't we think of something else to call him other than my boyfriend?" she says eventually and Kelly half-smiles. She's starting to get why her and Payson have become such good friends so quickly: in the face of adversity, they both turn to humour.

"Lover?" Kelly offers with a grin, anticipating Payson's grimace.

"Not applicable."

"Significant other?"

"No."

"Husband to be?"

"Kelly!"

"Ok, sorry." A pause. "Fiancé to be?"

"Forget it, it doesn't matter."

"No, this is fun. Your old man?"

"Go to sleep."

"Your boo?"

"Don't make me hurt you, Parker."


	36. Chapter 36

**CHAPTER THIRTY SIX**

Banging, something's banging on the door. Payson groans into her comforter. _Not again_. Her mattress is too soft and too cold to be Sasha. The light in the room is white creeping round the curtain edges, not yellow pouring from the central bulb. Payson groans again; it's definitely morning this time. More banging.

"Answer that." Kelly's voice is muffled by the pillow she has her head shoved under. "And if it's not a really hot guy, kill them."

 _Lie in, today is supposed to be a lie in._ Still, Payson obeys the first part of Kelly's instruction. Knowing their luck this week, it's probably another crisis.

She hauls the door open with a gruff "what?" and is met with an explosion of blonde pep for her trouble. It bounces over the threshold, mouth moving at a speed where Payson can't identify the words and doesn't stop until Payson shoves a hand over it. The room falls blessedly quiet.

"Lo," Payson says, very quietly and very carefully, "it's eight am." Underscoring her statement of the time is the unspoken promise that she will throw Lauren off the balcony if she doesn't have a decent excuse for the obscene violation of this holy day. She pulls her hand away from Lauren's mouth.

"I have the most awesome plan in the history of awesome plans!" Lauren at least has the decency to lower her volume, though Payson still feels this level of excitement at this time of the morning should face some punishment.

"You have five minutes," Payson grunts, schlepping back over to her bed and falling on the mattress face first. Another bounce of the mattress indicates Lauren has located herself beside Payson's head. "Talk fast."

"Or die," Kelly mumbles.

"Ok," Lauren takes a deep breath. "So, Summer's here, which I still can't believe btw, but that's not the point. And I know what you're going to say, that I shouldn't interfere in people's lives yadda yadda, and I totally agree. Her and my dad are through, I get that, and I'm not even going to try getting them back together, which I think totally shows how I've grown as a person btw..."

"It's By. The. Way!" The lump that is Kelly issues a muffled yell through three layers of goose feathers.

Lauren continues, ignoring Kelly's plea. "But I figure it's not interfering if you're just helping people do what they were going to do anyway, right? And it's perfect for everyone because it means Summer will be back in Boulder full time."

"Why will she be back in Boulder full time?" Payson, tipping her cheek into the mattress, still able to smell Sasha's cologne on her sheets, frowns at the hem of Lauren's night dress.

"Because..." Lauren pauses to give her announcement full effect, "she'll be dating Sasha!" She grins like a game show host who just revealed the star prize. "See? Best plan ever, right?" She claps her hands and jiggles up and down on the bed.

Payson doesn't move.

"Did you not hear me?" Lauren taps Payson on the forehead. "And I'm going to need your help. I'm thinking we start by getting them alone in the bar downstairs, then..."

"Lo, hold up a second," Payson pulls herself to sitting and rubs her face. "What are you talking about?"

Lauren frowns at Payson. "Er, duh? Our plan to get Summer and Sasha back together so Summer will move back to Boulder? Did you totally not hear my big speech?"

Payson's heart is thumping hard. She shuffles to the edge of the mattress, swings her legs over and grips the edge; she needs to feel the floor. "I thought you said you were done interfering with people's lives?"

"I am," Lauren shrugs, standing up, "this isn't interfering, it's helping. They're going to get back together anyway, I'm just giving them a shove in the right direction." She still looks exhilarated, but something else is beginning to creep into her expression; this was not the reaction she was anticipating.

"What makes you think they're going to get back together at all?" Kelly is suddenly at the end of Payson's bed, arms folded, awake and alert.

Lauren shoots her a glare, hearing the doubting tone. "I wasn't talking to you."

"Hey, you wake me up, you get my opinion whether you want it or not."

"It's a serious case of _not_ ," Lauren displays a sneering smile and turns back to Payson.

Since Darby arrived, Kelly and Lauren's sniping has been much less amiable on Lauren's part; Payson is starting to suspect it's because now Lauren has options of people to talk to.

"So are you going to help me?" Lauren addresses Payson again. Her bare toes are crunching into the carpet as she presses one foot up and down; tiny bones crack.

Payson blinks. "Why do you think they want to get back together?" she says, quiet and as calm as possible. Maybe she can divert Lauren from this train of thought before it gets out of hand.

"It's obvious," Lauren waves away the possibility of her opinion being wrong in any way. "I saw them in the hallway yesterday when you were all watching quali; they're totally still into each other."

"Are you sure?" Payson says, pulling her hair into a ponytail and dragging a tie off her wrist. A stupid, jealous part of her wonders what exactly Lauren witnessed.

Lauren rolls her eyes. She's getting annoyed. "Look, they only broke up 'cause I made them. So technically, I'm just fixing what I wrecked." She folds her arms stubbornly.

"So you broke them up to get Summer back with your dad. Now you want her back with Sasha? How is that _not_ interfering in people's lives?" Kelly's words are deliberately provocative.

"This is so none of your business," Lauren steams, attention switching to Kelly. Payson takes a few deep breathes but she saw the hurt in Lauren's eyes and guilt rolls through her clenched stomach at what she's got to do.

"Lauren, maybe we should take a minute. You know what you get like when you have an idea in your head. Let's just make sure they still have feelings for each other before we do anything." Payson stands up, holding placating hands out to Lauren. She hears her pulse beat vibrating her voice.

"What I get like?" Lauren repeats, dangerously quiet. "When I have an idea in my head? God, Pay, could you be more patronising?"

"I didn't mean..."

"You know what? Whatever." Lauren backs away. "If you don't want to help me, fine. Sorry to disturb you – maybe you should put that sign on your door next time you're too tired to help a friend." Lauren flounces from the room, pink nightdress flapping in her created breeze as she slams the door shut.

The bathroom light hums. The clock on the wall ticks. Payson's jogging to the door before Kelly can put out a hand to stop her.

"Lauren, wait." Payson keeps her voice low as she pads across the corridor. Lauren, who hasn't opened her room door yet, is pacing a small patch of the deserted hall.

"You think I don't know what this is about?" she hisses, darting toward Payson. "I know exactly why you don't want to help me."

Every look, every conversation she and Sasha have had in public in the last few days stream through Payson's mind. She launches into denial. "It's not what you think…"

"Yes it is," Lauren hisses again, flicking her loose ponytail over her shoulder. "You're still mad at me over the email thing and you don't want Summer back in my life because you don't think I deserve to be happy, do you?" She glares furiously at Payson.

Payson remembers Kelly's words yesterday, that there's no right or wrong, there's just choice.

"I…"

If Payson tells Lauren the truth, she risks losing Sasha; if she lies, she definitely loses Lauren. The vicious silence hovers between them.

"Right," Lauren scoffs, glancing away. There are tears in her eyes which she angrily wipes away. "Like me working so damn hard to change, to be a team player, like that would ever be enough for the _perfect_ Payson Keeler," she spits.

Payson wants to step in, say how proud she is of what Lauren has done these past few months, but she can't; her choice is made.

"I bent over backward to get you to be my friend again, to get you to forgive me, but you know what?" Lauren hisses. She's speaking quickly now, temper fast taking control.

"You can keep your friendship because I don't want it. I don't want a friend who always thinks they're better than me, who judges me on every single damn thing I do. I made a mistake, I owned up to that and I tried to fix it, but I am _done_." She snaps the word at Payson, slicing her hand through the air.

"I'm not apologising anymore and I'm sure as hell not feeling guilty about it." She takes a step back and a cynical smile touches her face. "You know what? I should have listened to you that night at gymnastics camp, shouldn't I? Saved us both a lot of shit. We might be teammates, but we are sure as hell _not_ friends."

There's a split second when the bitterness vanishes and the pain and betrayal Lauren's feeling washes over her face, but it's only a second; one blink and all that's left is venom. She keys into her room and slams the door without looking back.

A drop of saltwater catches the corner of Payson's mouth. She's shaking and the movement dislodges another tear, then another. The corridor swims around her, terracottas and creams and greens blurred by water.

"Come on," Kelly murmurs, coming into the hall, hand finding Payson's shoulder. "Let's get you out of here before the rest of the circus wakes up."

"I don't..." Payson blinks, unable to define a single thought in her head.

"I know." Kelly pulls gently on Payson's arm and Payson follows.

* * *

"You're quitting? That must have been one hell of a conversation you two had the other night."

Sasha tucks his cell between his ear and shoulder, wincing as he props himself up on smushed pillows. "I can't do the job, MJ, simple as that." It's already eleven but he plans to get at least another three hours sleep if he can.

"I'm no expert, but I thought your team qualifying in first place for the final showed your job performance in a pretty favourable light."

Sasha cuts his eyes to the window. The curtains are open. Last night he wasn't even capable of closing them before he collapsed on his mattress and fell into semi-medicated sleep. "All credit goes to the girls," he says, chest tight with shame. "I had nothing to do with it."

"Well, that's complete bollocks, but I'm not going to argue with you when you sound like you swallowed an ashtray."

"How kind of you."

"You're welcome. So, despite this mass exodus from well paid employment, I'm assuming you won't be resigning as Payson's coach?"

With his good arm, Sasha retrieves a pill pot from his nightstand but a shake indicates it's empty. "When we get back from Rio, we're going to tell her parents everything," he explains, sounding far calmer about the prospect than he feels, as he grabs another pot which - thankfully - does rattle.

There's a clank of ceramic on the other end of the line. Sasha suspects MJ's morning cup of tea just got slammed down on a flat surface. "Bloody hell, you never do things by halves, do you, Rebel?"

Sasha can still smell Payson's moisturiser on his skin. As he swallows three pills, washing them down with a quarter glass of stale water, he swears he will keep track of his medication today. It was inexcusable to scare Payson as he did last night.

"Look, MJ, I need your professional opinion," Sasha says, as the pills work their way down his throat.

"That's a bloody first."

"If this goes public, about Payson and me, how badly will it affect her career?" There's a long pause. "MJ?"

"I'm thinking. Hold your horses." There's a large gulp.

"Need more tea?"

"Shut up."

More silence. Sasha's eyes start to drift shut. He snaps them open. He fell asleep on the phone with MJ once before. Never again.

"Ok," she says eventually. Sasha predicts that she's pacing. "My gut instinct says this won't come out, at least not publically. Her parent's will probably castrate you, that's a given, but they won't want anyone else involved. They're private people. The NGO find out?" Another gulp; MJ never leaves England without an extra large box of teabags. "It will complicate matters but they won't want it splashed all over the tabloids either. Going into 2012, they need Payson."

Sasha stares at the ceiling. "How big does she need to win here, MJ? Realistically."

"To get the currency she'll need with the NGO to retain their backing? At least an individual silver, but if she leaves here wearing gold there's no way the NGO will want to go to the Olympics without her."

"Ok," Sasha says, mind already skimming over Payson's best events and considering the form of her closest challengers so far this week. "Ok."

"Sasha?"

The frown in MJ's voice filters through Sasha's internal calculations. He pinches between his eyebrows.

"I'm fine, MJ," he reassures, though he knows his voice is too cracked to be convincing.

A pause, then MJ speaks again with her usual businesslike bustle. "Payson and I were scheduled to meet the Grrrl Bar rep at breakfast. She wanted to push it back to lunch but I'm going to take the meeting alone, give her the day to herself. She's got enough on her plate."

Before Sasha can comment on MJ's uncharacteristic prioritising of her client's welfare over their professional commitments, she snaps a, "make sure you eat something" and rings off.

Sasha's stomach turns at the mention of food. Still, he swaps his cell for the main phone and dials up room service. While he's ordering toast and orange juice, his cell buzzes. It's a text from Ryan Griffin, Drea's brother, giving his expected arrival time.

"Bollocks," Sasha huffs as he hangs up the phone. He'd totally forgotten Ryan was flying in today. So much for going back to sleep.

Hauling his legs off the bed, Sasha lets out a groan that sounds more like a death rattle. It isn't exactly a comforting comparison so Sasha instead focuses his attention on the questions he needs to ask Reece regarding the NGO's stance on Drea's custody. Ryan Griffin has already made it very clear he means to take his sister home with him and Sasha intends to make damn sure that can happen.

* * *

"What else were you going to do? Tell her the truth?" Kelly's sitting on the carpet between her bed and the balcony, massaging her ankle. "Like Lauren would ever be able to keep her mouth shut."

The french window is slid open half an inch and Payson is leaning against the adjacent wall, tracing a finger through the snippet of air whistling through. "It's raining. I didn't know it rained in Rio."

Kelly stretches across the floor to dig a heat pad out from under a pile of towels. "Keeler, if you're about to start caterwauling some country ballad called 'It's Raining in Rio' I may just have to kill you with a banjo."

"Do you own a banjo?" Payson murmurs, watching the water drops spatter down the pane.

"I can get one." Kelly rips open the heat pack and slaps it on her ankle. "Look," she says, shuffling on the floor so she can lean against the mattress, "can I ask you a question?"

Payson, heart necklace looped round her fingers, looks over at Kelly and shrugs. "Sure."

"Have you really forgiven Lauren for sending that video of you kissing Sasha to Beals?"

Walking into the Rock the day after everyone had found out, Lauren, in front of Kaylie and Emily, had asked her if Sasha was a good kisser. Payson sets her jaw and stares back out at the cloud covered city.

Kelly watches her. "So if you're still mad at her, why is it bothering you so much that she's mad at you? Though ten, twenty percent I guess we can blame on shock and you being tired from playing doctors and nurses with Sasha last night."

To fight off the gloom of the rain sodden day, all the room lights are switched on. Kelly smiles as she sees that Payson's reflected face lightens a little.

Payson's quiet for a while. After a couple of attempts, Kelly manages to retrieve the TV remote without having to stand. The hotel has ESPN.

"Hello, Jason Ratzeburg," Kelly drawls, as her favourite anchorman pops up on the screen.

"What's going to happen to the team?" Payson pushes the window open another inch, enjoying the flickers of water that the breeze carries through.

"The team don't have to be best friends to win, Keeler, you know that." Kelly's fiddling with TV the volume. A stray raindrop lands on her calf. "And close the door already, I'm drowning here."

Payson smiles, but doesn't move. "She's going to figure it out Kelly," she murmurs, her smile turning so sad Kelly almost has to break her tradition of not hugging people.

"Sasha quits the National team as well as the Rock and I go with him? Lauren's a lot of things but she's not stupid."

Kelly frowns sullenly at the remote that still won't co-operate. "Then what excuse does she have for her fashion sense." She sighs, dropping the remote on the carpet, resigned to having to watch Jason Ratzeburg without hearing him. "Come on, Keeler, out with it. What's really going on in that anally retentive head of yours?"

Payson, still dressed in her night clothes, leans harder against the wall as she lifts her leg up and stretches her toes. "I thought she'd changed. I thought," she pauses, sighs. "I thought we were passed all this bullshit." Her coarse language doesn't fit with the quiet tone.

"Lauren is who she is, Payson. She likes drama so it's always going to find her."

"I was trying to help her be better than that."

Kelly smiles. "She's not an Amanar; you can't train her into matching some perfect behavioural outline you have in your head."

Payson's face tightens. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Yeah, you did," Kelly says, not backing off the subject. "You wanted to prove you could 'reform' Lauren Tanner when everyone else had failed at it."

"Why don't you try being blunt, Kelly," Payson snaps, glaring. "That was a little vague."

Kelly shrugs. "You want someone who tells you only what you want to hear? Go chat with Hayley."

The teammates watch one another, neither angry nor content. Payson, mind buzzing, breaks the silent discussion and steps from the window, sliding down into splits to ease out the morning stiffness of her muscles.

"We still have to work together," Payson says after a while, bringing them back to Lauren.

"Just don't make out with Sasha in front of her and I'm pretty sure she won't drop kick you off the beam," Kelly smirks and Payson finally smiles a little.

"This stupid thing's broken," Kelly moans as she retrieves the remote and starts pushing random buttons.

"So much for the tight team I wanted to make sure we had," Payson sighs, as she shifts into the side splits and leans her elbows on the carpet between her legs.

Kelly grapples with the remote casing trying to get the batteries out. " _You_ wanted to be the perfect captain with the perfect team? Well, colour me stunned," Kelly teases, but Payson gets the honesty in the barb.

"Kelly," Payson says after a moment. "Can I ask you something?"

The remote cover flicks out of the casing and lands on Payson's thigh.

"If you hand me that, sure." Kelly leans out to retrieve the piece of plastic with a 'give me' gesture.

"Most people say please," Payson pretends to gripe.

"When are you going to learn I'm not most people? Now, ask your question."

Chin cupped on her palms, Payson tilts her eyes to the wall where Becca's collage is hanging.

"What do you think my parents are going to say?"

"About Sasha?"

Payson nods, watching her family's frozen smiles, her own young face grinning forever on some forgotten day.

"They love you, Payson. You've just got to trust that."

They sit together quietly, both looking at the Keelers smiling over at them, until Kelly, feeling there's been enough rumination for one morning, starts smacking the remote against the carpet.

"Oh, for God's sake, give it here," Payson rises to the bait, reaches over and yanks the remote out of Kelly's hand. "There." She points it at the TV and the volume rises immediately.

"Well, I totally fixed it for you," Kelly says, with a smug grin, that lasts until Payson drags the balcony door fully open and lets the rain in.

"Keeler!"


	37. Chapter 37

**CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN**

As instructed by the text message he just received, Sasha gravitates toward the fountain nearest the raised reception desk. Scanning the adjacent seating islands, he spots a familiar looking face, and his suspicion is confirmed when the younger man stands and walks to meet him with an outstretched hand.

"Coach Belov."

Sasha eases past a couple who are posing for photos on one of the atrium's mini bridge, smiling in welcome as he shakes the man's hand. "Ryan, good to meet you."

"My husband, Zach," Ryan introduces briskly, tipping his head toward a taller man, standing a few paces back, who nods.

"Zach," Sasha nods back, then gestures for them both to follow him.

Rather than deal with more glares for ruining photographs, Sasha turns down an unblocked pathway toward the other elevator bank. "You guys have a good flight?"

"Long." Ryan is Sasha's height, dark haired where his sister is blonde, broad where she is tiny. "Like I said on the phone, I appreciate the call. The NGO were stonewalling me and Louise wouldn't answer her damn cell. I was going crazy."

Zach jogs ahead and sticks his hand out to jam the doors open on an elevator just about to leave. "Crazy's a bit of an understatement." He softens his obvious worry with a half-smile.

"So you haven't had any contact with Louise?" Sasha ventures, prodding a finger onto the thirteen button as the doors close again, this time with them inside.

Ryan's jaw contracts with anger. Zach squeezes his husband's shoulder and answers for him. "They're not on the best of terms."

Sasha suspects that, too, is a large understatement. "When was the last time you saw Drea?"

"Two years," Ryan answers, without having to calculate. "We only live a few hours down the freeway from LA but Louise..." Ryan breaks off, tipping his head back and forth. He's clearly spoiling for a fight.

"I understand," Sasha says calmly, not envying this young man having to deal with Louise Conway on a permanent basis.

"How is she?" Ryan asks, fear quieting his voice. He has the same blue, wide eyes as his sister.

"To be honest, I'm not sure," Sasha says, folding his arms. "She cried when the test result came through but hasn't really shown that much emotion since," he pauses, "not even when Louise left."

Ryan's fists are clenched and Zach's hand is digging hard into his shoulder. Sasha suspects without that restraint, one of the elevator mirrors would be smashed by now.

"She didn't say goodbye, leave a note, anything?" Ryan snaps.

Sasha shakes his head, checking the flashing numbers; they just passed twelve. "It hit her hard, the positive test. I don't think she was thinking straight." He doesn't believe a word, is simply aiming to placate Ryan rather than defend Conway, and is glad the elevator's arrival negates the need for further conversation; his poker face has never been very good.

A point to the right from Sasha is all direction Ryan needs. He breaks into a jog along the corridor, Sasha and Zach at his heels, but stops suddenly when he rounds the second corner. Sitting on the floor outside her propped open hotel room door, legs crossed and back hunched, Drea is flicking through a magazine.

"Drea?" Ryan murmurs, hesitating.

The curtain of curls move first as Drea lifts her head. Then her eyes, swinging round to find their match in her brother's face.

"Ry?" Her thin voice is unsure as she pushes cautiously to her feet. Tears pop up, unmitigating relief flooding over her, and she starts to sway. "Ry?"

Two strides and Ryan sweeps his sister into his arms, lifting her off the floor and holding her tight. Drea's body shakes as the tears overwhelm her, as she clings to her brother with all the strength she has left.

* * *

"Thanks," Zach nods gratefully as Sasha hands him a can of Red Bull from the couple of six packs Marty - eager to get back in his good books - dropped off earlier. "Couldn't sleep at all on the flight."

"No problem. You were saying? About Drea's father?"

"He died about six years ago, so it's not like I ever met him, and I know you're not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but, Christ." Zach bites back what would surely be a long list of curses and starts over.

"No official visitation rights were ever worked out, so Drea getting to see her dad or her brother was rare and always on Louise's terms. After he died, Ryan pushed to see Drea more often but…" Another gulp of energy drink though Zach's voice is already buzzing with caffeine. "I've been with Ryan three years, and I've met Drea twice, so you can see how well that worked out."

Sasha, leaning against the corridor wall, swigs deep from his own Red Bull. Drea and Ryan are in her hotel room, packing. "They kept in touch though?"

"Through letters and email, though lately Drea hasn't been replying."

 _And now we know why_ , Sasha adds to himself.

"It's really ok for her to come home with us?" Zach asks.

Sasha nods as he swallows the rest of his can. "There are some forms Ryan needs to fill out. Reece can explain all that better than me. She'll be up as soon as she's tracked down a printer. But you both check out as being who you say you are so there shouldn't be any problems."

"Glad to hear you're not letting her go to just anyone who walks in off the street."

Though his tone is light, Zach's dark eyes are assessing. Sasha is reassured by the protectiveness he sees in the younger man for the sister-in-law he barely knows. He stares steadily back as Zach directs his frown to the carpet, waiting for the question he seems to be struggling to pose.

"The cocaine," Zach blurts out. "How bad is it?"

"I'm pretty certain it was a one-time thing." Sasha takes a step closer to Zach, keeps his voice low and calm despite the caffeine surge he just gulped down. "She wanted to spike a test."

"Why?" The drinks can crumples in Zach's clenched hand.

"Basically? I think she wanted out. Out of gymnastics entirely or just out from Louise's control - only Drea can tell you that."

"Jesus Christ," Zach breathes.

A trash can sits next to the ice machine in the alcove halfway down the main corridor. Sasha waits while Zach paces out of sight. He hears the smash of tin on plastic, the can apparently hurled into the trash instead of dropped.

"Not that it matters right now," Zach says, coming back round the corner, "but how does this affect her gymnastics? What are the rules?"

"Automatic ban of one year, but the NGO will take into consideration the exceptional circumstances."

Zach is staring at the painted landscape on the wall beside Drea's door but Sasha has no doubt he's taking note of every word.

"Reece will keep in contact with you and she knows the NGO rules and regs back to front." Sasha hesitates, unsure as to how the rest of the information he has to give will be received. "The paperwork covering Drea's custody is all temporary. Louise could…" he trails off, hating that all the advice he can give is "I'd get a lawyer."

Zach flicks his eyes over to Sasha. Strangely, he looks suddenly calm.

"I _am_ a lawyer."

The elevator dings before Sasha can reply, Reece spilling out in her usual whirlwind of files and notes and preternatural access to pertinent information.

"I swear, the second I get within five feet of a printer, its toner cartridge evaporates! Sorry I'm late, Sasha. Ooh, you got a can of that for me? You're an angel. Hi, you must be the husband. Is it Zachary or do you prefer Zach? Zach, excellent. Well, Zach, I'll say upfront that I totally intend on exploiting that lawyer brain of yours to check these."

As Reece brandishes a sheaf of paper at Zach, who pops a pair of glasses from his shirt pocket and immediately starts reading, Sasha returns to his room to retrieve the requested can of Red Bull. He snaps it from the cardboard sleeve and allows himself a deep breath. His relief at Drea's welfare being passed to others is tinged with shame. When it was his responsibility to protect her, he failed.

"You haven't got a pen have you?" Reece says, bustling up to his open door. "Apparently, I have the same effect on biros as I do on toner cartridges, dry as a bone. Sasha? You ok?"

Blinking twice, Sasha swallows the sudden tightness in his ribs, the crushing weight of regret.

"Sorry, Reece, what did you need?"

* * *

The door is ajar but Payson knocks once with a knuckle anyway as she stands on the threshold. Drea's back is to her but the dark haired guy standing on the other side of the bed smiles and waves for her to come in.

"Hey," he says, walking across to meet her. "You're Payson Keeler, right? Ryan Griffin, I'm Drea's brother."

Though he's smiling, Payson can see the fatigue in his eyes. "Nice to meet you," she says, shaking his hand.

"Hi!" A voice sounds from the other side of the room. Payson can't identify the source until she spots a pair of long, jean-clad legs jutting from behind the other bed.

"That's Zach," Ryan explains. "He's looking for a hair clip."

"I think my arm's stuck."

"No, it's not," Ryan shouts over his shoulder and then, in a loud whisper, "he likes to think his muscles are bigger than they really are."

"I heard that!" Zach's muffled voice complains.

Though Payson knows the lightheartedness is forced, it is succeeding in getting Drea to smile a little. Biting her bottom lip, she comes to stand by her brother. "I'm glad you came by, I was worried I wouldn't get to see you before we leave." She's wearing Beth's Yankee Cap.

"Couldn't let you go without a proper goodbye," Payson smiles, following Ryan's lead and keeping things as upbeat as possible.

"Seriously guys, my arm is stuck. I think gangrene is starting to set in."

Ryan rolls his red eyes. "Are you sure you still want to come live with us?" he asks Drea.

"I'll risk it," she smiles, though, like her brother, all her expressions are shaky with emotion.

"Unless you want to be widower, Ry, get your ass over here!"

"He couldn't do us all a favour, and get his mouth stuck?"

When Ryan jogs over to his husband, in the few seconds that he is out of his sister's sightline, Payson sees his feigned jollity falter, sees worry and anger pale his face. She quickly turns her attention back to Drea, feeling like she's witnessed something private.

"This is my email address and cell number." She fishes a note out of her pocket. "I'll call you when I get back to Boulder but if you need anything before then use either of these, ok?"

Blunt as she had been, Kelly was right; Payson had wanted to prove something with Lauren; that she could be the best at forgiving, be the best at helping someone. It's different with Drea.

"Thanks," Drea says, quietly. She looks at the carpet, turning the paper over in her fingers. "Beth...?" Nervously, she glances up at Payson.

"Kelly and I will watch out for Beth, don't worry," Payson reassures.

There's nothing else to say because there's too much else to say. Payson swears to herself that she will keep in touch with Drea; not like when she promised Natalie she'd call after she left Taft High and never did.

"Thanks," Drea says again. Tears are sneaking into her voice.

"Found it!" Zach announces, grinning as he stands, hair clip held aloft like a trophy, then balances it on his head and tries to walk over to Drea without it falling.

"And, amazingly, there was no gangrene," Ryan follows behind and lightly flicks Zach in the back of his head so the hair clip jolts to the carpet.

"Ah man." All six foot three of Zach slumps as the hair clip rebounds off the carpet and bounces under Drea's bed.

"You," he rounds on Ryan, laying a smack-lipped kiss to his husband's forehead, "suck. Hear that?" He turns to Drea, lifting off her cap and placing it on her head backward. "Your brother sucks."

Though their smiles are tainted by a history Payson isn't sure will ever fully heal, this new family of three laugh together as Zach falls to his knees and starts fumbling around under the bed to once again retrieve the hair clip.

Payson watches Drea lean against Ryan and Ryan automatically pull his little sister into a protective hug.

* * *

"They're in, that's all that matters," Kelly announces, as if that concludes the discussion.

She, Payson, and Beth are on her bed watching the TV. The scoreboard shows that Team USA have captured the fourth spot in the men's team final.

"Maybe they'd have done better if we had gone and sung for them like they did for us," Beth suggests. She and Kelly are propped up against the headboard, while Payson's lying flat along the end of the mattress, neck at an angle Kelly's already said isn't healthy.

"Not with Kelly's voice," Payson says. Kelly jabs a toe into her thigh. "What? I've heard you in the shower, Parker, it's painful."

Beth giggles but puts her hands over her mouth when Kelly glares at her. "Sorry," she says, voice muffled by her fingers.

"You are both tone deaf," Kelly defends, "no appreciation for... Come in!" she interrupts her speech to answer the knock at the door, "true talent."

Payson snorts into the mattress.

"You guys in the middle of something?" Sasha muses as he enters the room.

"Kelly's auditioning for American Idol next year," Payson smirks up at Sasha, twisting onto her back and propping herself up on her elbows.

"Really?" Sasha raises his eyebrows, "Wow, Kelly, I didn't realise your talents were so varied."

Payson snorts again and Sasha coughs to keep a straight face.

"You're mocking me," she narrows her eyes first at Payson, then at their coach. "I'm being mocked. You," she pokes Beth in the shoulder, "are my witness, they're mocking me."

Beth nods then looks at Sasha. "I read To Kill A Mockingbird last month. Why wasn't it called To Kill a Boo Radley?"

That random segue is too much for Sasha and a smile blooms over his face as Payson laughs and Kelly gapes.

"You had all your stitches out." Beth notices, smiling too.

"Did Dr Jake say everything was healing ok?" Payson asks, a flash of worry darkening her laughter.

Sasha's eyes soften as he looks down at her. "I'm as healthy as a horse," he says.

"Yeah," Kelly rolls her eyes though her relief is clear. "A really stupid horse that just tried to jump a barbed wire fence."

"Thank you, Miss Parker." Sasha rolls his eyes in imitation of his gymnast who tries really hard not to laugh at the impersonation. "Anyway," he redirects the conversation, "I just wanted to check to see you were all ok. Ryan just called from the airport, he's got them all on a flight tonight."

"That's great," Payson says, glancing quickly at Beth to gauge her reaction. She showed up at the door about ten minutes after Drea left, flopped down on Kelly's bed to watch the men's qualifying session and hasn't moved since.

"Lauren and Hayley not with you?" Sasha watches Payson carefully as he speaks. He expected to find the team all in one room; Drea's departure drawing them together. He sees Payson tense, the tendons in her neck that he kissed last night snapping tight. The memory of what they did in the bed behind him adds to the sudden awkwardness in the room.

"They've gone swimming with Darby," Kelly says, looking intently at the TV screen, though they're just repeating routines she's already watched.

Sasha nods slowly. Payson's eyes are still fixed on him. "I see," he says.

"We swam earlier, before you lecture," Kelly continues, "and I should be rewarded for not drowning Little Miss Wouldn't Stop Doing Handstands over there." She jabs a finger toward Beth. "And…"

"Knock knock," Summer's head appears round the door, "I thought I heard voices." She's smiling so brightly as she walks across the room that Sasha has to swallow hard to stop himself wincing.

"Have you read To Kill a Mockingbird?" Beth pipes up, when no one else answers Summer's sudden appearance.

Confusion crosses Summer's brow but the smile still shines, "I have, have you?" There's condescension in her tone and Sasha swallows again, annoyance flushing through him.

Beth nods, expression neutral as usual, but Sasha doesn't miss the way her eyes dart between himself, Payson, and Summer so quickly that if he'd have blinked once he wouldn't have seen them move at all.

"Everything ok, Payson?" Summer's face crumples in concern. "You look a little down."

"She's focusing," Kelly cuts in quickly, "I've told her if the wind changes, her face will stick like that but she isn't listening."

"I have to go to the bathroom," Payson stands suddenly. Sasha thinks she's going to leave without another word but she shoots Summer a forced smile, "I'm fine, Summer, thanks for asking." She glances at Sasha - the look in her eye has him desperate to follow her - then retreats to the bathroom, pushing the door shut behind her.

Kelly turns the TV up louder to fill the silence. Summer, touching Sasha's shoulder, lowers her voice as she leans up to his ear. "Can I talk to you?"

 _The woman sure can pick her moments_ , Sasha thinks, but he knows he has to deal with this sooner or later, for Payson's sake.

"Sure, I'll see you guys later," Sasha tells Kelly and Beth.

When he turns to follow Summer out the room, he doesn't miss the warning stare Kelly aims at him.

* * *

"Look, Summer, I..." Sasha starts as soon as he shuts his hotel room door, hoping to get in a pre-emptive strike.

"Wait, please Sasha, there's something I need to say first." Summer looks at him imploringly, wringing her hands. She's wearing a kingfisher blue dress and her hair is hanging in waves.

Sasha shuts his mouth and listens; there's no other option.

"I know I said yesterday that I came to Rio because I knew Lauren needed me," she turns away as she talks, apparently finding it easier to look at his room rather than him. "But that's not the only reason."

She pauses suddenly. Sasha follows her eye line. She's looking at his unmade bed, the sheets messed up round the end of the mattress. In a moment's paranoia, Sasha wonders if her morally enhanced vision can make out the long blond hairs laying across the pillows.

"Summer?"

Summer shakes her head from her reverie.

"I wanted to see _you_."

She looks over her shoulder, blue eyes shining. Her hand strays up to the cross round her neck. "I've really missed you, Sasha."

Her sincerity is unbearable. Sasha may not want to be with her anymore but he certainly doesn't want to hurt her.

Sasha coughs, rubs a hand through his cropped hair. How do you say ' _I haven't missed you_ ' kindly?

"Summer, since you've been away, things have changed." His plan is to be vague and fast. "And I don't..."

"Changed how?" Summer interrupts. She's facing him again, frowning in concern. "Are you talking about the accident?"

"Yeah," Sasha nods, _why not the accident_. "It's made me realise that I can't go back, no matter how difficult it may be. I need to move forward, move on with my life." At least that part's true.

He looks past Summer at his bed, sees Payson's image asleep on her side of the mattress. "We both do," he says, gentle as possible, hoping Summer gets the hint.

Her face brightens. "But don't you see Sasha, that's what I came here to do, to move on. Steve and I..."

"Steve?" Sasha's startled.

"I was scared, Sasha, of how you made me feel, of how I felt when I was with you, and I only went back to Steve because..."

"Because what?" The edges of Sasha's temper are starting to smoulder.

"Because I was in love with _you_ ," Summer says, eyes wide.

Sasha blinks. "You agreed to marry someone else because you were in love with _me_?" he repeats, slowly.

It's all coming flooding back, the games he and Summer have always forced each other to play.

Summer smiles shyly. "It's crazy, I know it sounds crazy, but the time away has given me time to reflect and realise. You scare me, Sasha; you're so different from the man I thought I would fall in love with."

"You mean the fact I don't believe God clicked his fingers and the world popped up out of nothing scares you," Sasha says curtly, bringing them to the point he knows they'll reach in a few minutes anyway.

Summer's smile fades. "Not just that," she says carefully.

"But mostly that," Sasha fills in for her. His atheism stops the conversation as it always does.

"You said you've felt different about life since the accident?" Summer's dress catches in the air con as she steps toward him. "What did you mean by that?" She's giving him that look like she's measuring his soul against her biblical checklist.

"Just that..." and then he gets it. His nose flares as his breathing becomes erratic. "I did not see some white light and Jesus telling me to take the damn wheel if that's where this is going."

Summer stops. His words have offended her. He tries to remember a conversation they've ever had when he didn't end up offending her.

"Is that why you came here? Because you thought I'd be willing to take Jesus as my personal saviour now that he's spared me from joining him as a damn sunbeam?" Sasha studies Summer's face. She's a terrible liar. "That's why you're here." It's not a question this time.

"Sasha," she says, taking on the tone she does when she's about to inform him that he's headed to hell if he doesn't do exactly what she instructs. "I saw the photos of the car on TV. It was so wrecked, I couldn't believe you'd just walked away."

"I didn't just walk away, there was a stretcher and some bloody good paramedics involved."

"But didn't you think, even for a moment?" Summer looks away. "I prayed for you that night," she murmurs.

"Next time donate some money to my HMO, it'll be more effective." Sasha regrets the insult the second he says it. He may disagree with it, but Summer's faith deserves to be more than a cheap punch line. "Sorry," he sighs. He is so tired of this.

"I know you think I'm foolish," Summer says, a hint of annoyance colouring her voice and her cheeks, "but I thought, maybe we were being given a second chance." She takes Sasha's hand, lays fingers over his cast. "And that I owed it to us both to find out if that was true."

Her long lashes blink slowly up at him. There is no kind way to do this.

"I'm sorry, Summer," Sasha says, carefully unfurling her fingers from his broken arm. "But I don't want a second chance."

The words hit hard and Summer looks away like she's been slapped. Sasha doesn't move, not knowing what else to do.

"You're not even willing to give it a try?" Summer murmurs, and there's the anger he remembers that sparks whenever someone disagrees with her.

"Summer..." he says, taking a step away, gentle but warning.

"Is there someone else?" she snaps, expression suddenly hard and cold.

"No," Sasha snaps back, perhaps a little too quickly because Summer's eyes flare.

"Who is she?"

Sasha turns away. He does not need this.

"I think you should go." He opens the door, hoping proximity to other ears will keep Summer's words in her mouth.

He stays facing the bathroom and it's long seconds before he feels Summer stalk past his back. He pushes the door shut without looking at her in the corridor.

* * *

A rainy day has given way to a clear night, though skyscraper lights hide the stars that should be shining. Sasha stands beside the hotel room window trying to calm his temper, wishing he could go down to the gym and pound the shit out of a punching bag or a cocky sparring partner. His phone beeps. He steels himself before picking it off the bed, expecting it to be another demand from Summer.

 _U ok? Xx_

It's Payson.

 _Long day. I'll explain later. What's going on with Lauren? xx_

It takes him a while to type; dexterity has never been his strong point and the cast has made him even slower.

Expecting her reply to take some time too, he looks back out the window, mind straying to his neglected Californian cabin, when the phone lights up in his hand. _God, she must have nimble fingers_ , Sasha thinks, then immediately - for his own sanity - wipes the thought from his head.

 _xplain l8r. safe 2 come over? x_

Sasha glances at her side of the bed. He swallows, working hard to allow logic to win out over instinct for once, trying to quell the nagging sensation of foreboding creeping through his blood.

 _Better not. I think it's too risky tonight. Are you sure you're ok? xx_

She's less than fifty feet away and he can't go to her. Luckily the phone beeps again before he can get any angrier.

 _Ok. miss u tho xx_

Payson's not one who expresses sentiment easily so Sasha knows the depth behind those simple words. He's midway through composing a reply when the phone beeps again.

 _How many pills have you taken today? X_

The bay, ringed with lights, shines on the horizon. Sasha stares at the black ocean as, with a sharp inhale, he finally acknowledges the stabbing pain in his ribs, the itching of his skin beneath his cast, the aching of the reknitting bone. Shakes of exhaustion threaten each leg and his bad knee has given up its pretence that a rehabbed joint can ever be as strong as one uninjured.

 _I'm ok, sweetheart x_

He'll fool himself that he's protecting her; it's easier than admitting he can't answer her question because he can't really remember. His mind is pain hazy and every emotional nerve seems to be fraying.

 _Get some sleep. I love you xxx_

Sasha's eyes fall shut. Tears droop from long lashes. It takes him a few minutes to be able to see his phone screen clear enough to type.

 _I love you xxx_

After pressing send, he opens contacts and starts scrolling.

And then he remembers.

Nausea swirls from gut to throat and a grief poisoned scream circles his mind, but the only outward signs of shock at the lapse in memory he manages to keep to flared, stinging eyes.

The number had stayed in Sasha's phone for two years after Nikolai answering again ceased to be a possibility. It's been six months since he finally mustered the strength to delete it.

Staring without seeing into the Rio dark, Sasha feels the ghost of his coach, his mentor, his best friend, pressing at his back. He listens and waits and hopes for Nikolai's voice to sound in his memory, to offer advice from the past that will help him navigate the present, but all he hears is heart deadening silence.


	38. Chapter 38

**CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT**

Brushing her hair into a ponytail, Payson blinks early morning blurriness from her eyes. Though it had taken her a while to fall asleep last night - her traitorous brain kept taunting her with images of Sasha and Summer - she'd slept sound. Refreshed would be an overstatement, but she certainly feels more steady and able to focus on today's training session, and even face the party tonight that Marcus has decreed mandatory.

"Keeler, can I ask you a question?"

"Since when do you _ask_ if you can ask a question?" Payson blinks again, this time to peer into the bathroom mirror and check the girl standing next to her is still Kelly Parker.

"Am I a coward if I don't fight Sasha over benching me for AA?"

"When did Sasha bench you?" Payson forgets her teasing. Sasha had told her a decision wouldn't be made until later today.

Kelly concentrates on twisting one long bunch into a bun.

"He hasn't. But he will."

She's doing her best to sound disinterested about losing an opportunity she's worked her entire life to achieve, and almost succeeding. Payson wonders if she'd have such composure if the roles were reversed.

"My d-scores on vault and beam are too low already," Kelly says, feeling about the sink unit for the hair pin bag. "Add in that Kirilenko's annoyingly on form, same with Genghi, and you've shown no signs of using all your energy up in bed with your boy. On paper, I can't win."

"But medals aren't won on paper." Payson follows Kelly's lead and continues arranging her own hair into a style suitable for today's training session.

"True. The stars could align and everybody but me has the worst competition of their life," Kelly concedes, coating her finished bun with hairspray. "But even then I would have to hit everything."

"And you don't you think can?" Payson coughs, waving away the chemical cloud Kelly just sprayed over them both.

For the first time, Kelly hesitates, fingers frozen in twisting up her second bun. The only noise is the extractor fan sucking moisture from the enclosed bathroom. "No," she says, shortly. "I don't."

Payson, throat suddenly tight, struggles to keep emotion out of her voice. "Accepting the reality of a situation doesn't make you a coward, Kelly."

Kelly's laugh is jagged. "That's not what my mother would say."

Payson bristles. "Then your mother's an idiot. No offence," she adds in quickly.

This time, Kelly's chuckle is real. "Don't take it back. You can give her as much offence as you want."

The teammates meet each other's eyes.

"Remember what I said about pity, Keeler"

"What are you going to slap me with?" Payson, hands midway through pinning her long ponytail into it's bun style, raises an eyebrow. Kelly's hands are also full of hair.

Scowling playfully, Kelly nudges a jutting elbow into Payson's upper arm. "I'm resourceful."

They continue in companionable silence for awhile, letting the conversation settle around them. Kelly finishes first, setting her bunches with enough hairspray that Payson has to retreat from the room to avoid suffocating.

"What about the team final?" Payson asks, still coughing, reaching under her bed to retrieve her gym bag. "You, me, and Lauren on bars?"

"Definately," Kelly agrees, exiting the bathroom and dropping down onto Payson's mattress just where Payson was planning to put her bag. "Haley will get the nod over me on beam, probably on vault, too."

"I don't know." Payson checks the battery status then slots her cell phone into her backpack. "Marcus might push for Lauren on vault since she scored more than Haley in quali."

Kelly's lip curls. "And Darby will favour Lo-Lo too."

"How are you feeling about floor?" Payson says quickly, before Kelly can start in on more conspiracy theories about Darby's favouritism to Lauren.

"Team wise? I won't fight Sasha if he opts for Lauren. As much as I want to."

"Event final wise?" Payson prompts. If Kelly can't compete, the second floor final spot will go to Beth.

"I don't know yet." Kelly picks at a burst blister on her palm. "Ask me after I've thrown a few tumbling passes today."

"You're a definate for the bars final, though," Payson says, collecting her national team jacket from it's allocated hanger in the closet.

Kelly doesn't appear to hear this consoling truth. She flops back on Payson's bed with a giant groan, crushing the half packed bag. "Why did it have to be Tanner in the all around? I'm okay with little weirdo taking my place in the floor final if my stupid ankle fucks me over, but Tanner?"

There are a number of platitudes Payson knows she could voice, but since she also knows that Kelly would find their inherent sympathy offensive rather than reassuring, she stays quiet, and finishes gathering her training accessories with a background track of Kelly's loud - and imaginative - cursing.

* * *

"No, absolutely not," Sasha frowns across the training hall as the girls run their warm up. He's hoping his message will be received, but apparently the three times he's said it in the past five minutes have not registered with Steve Tanner.

"If Lauren is going to have a decent shot in the all around final then she's got to up her d-score on bars," Steve proclaims again, punctuating his words with a fist to the palm as if such force of action will change Sasha's mind.

"And we really think the full pirouettes are within Lo-Lo's abilities." Darby hovers beside Steve, eyes wide with big sisterly sincerity that Sasha would smack down if it wasn't so horrendously hypocritical considering the level of professionalism he is displaying with Payson. "She's willing to put in the work in the next couple of days and I am more than happy to help her."

There is a repetitive stabbing sensation behind Sasha's left eyebrow that has him contemplating shoving a pen through his ear drum so he can scratch the inside of his skull. "Okay," he snaps, taking his eyes from the gymnasts and turning to face the belligerent Rock owner. "One, Lauren is not in the all around final, Kelly is. Two..."

"Come on, Belov," Steve interrupts, rolling his eyes with a level of contempt that seems to be a Tanner trait. "I spoke to Marty and, okay, he didn't give me details, but it's pretty damn obvious Kelly's ankle is bad."

" _Two_ ," Sasha repeats, raising his voice and not giving a damn if the other teams they're sharing the training hall with glance over. "The team competition comes first and that is where I want Lauren's concentration, not on some pie in the sky bars routine that she would have a maximum of three days to train."

"Four days if you'd make the decision about benching Kelly now," Steve fires back, "which, when I was talking to Marcus and Ellen this morning, is a recommendation they agree with."

Sasha smacks his lips round a humourless smirk. "Didn't realise you were so chummy with Ellen Beals again, Steve."

There's insolence in Steve's shrug that has Darby looking away uncomfortably from the two men.

"The only person I care about is my daughter, and I will do whatever is necessary to get her the chances she needs to show everyone what she can do." There's a theatrical flair in Steve's delivery that suggests preparation.

Sasha breathes his voice calm. "Well, I have an entire team to care about, and I'd appreciate you letting me get back to them." He glances at Darby. "I said I'd give Kelly to the end of the day before I made any decisions; the girl deserves that."

Empathy for a fellow competitor flows through Darby's resulting nod, though whether that will keep her from training pirouettes with Lauren today whenever his back is turned, Sasha doesn't know. He turns on his heel, about to walk over to the mat where Beth has moved into running through her tumble combinations without music.

"I bought you back to the Rock because I thought you were what was best for my gym and my daughter." Steve steps up behind Sasha's shoulder, speaking close to his ear. "Just so you know, I'm not too proud to admit when I've made a mistake."

"Are you admitting you made a mistake?" Sasha murmurs, feral smile blighting his mouth.

"That's up to you."

Sasha walks away without looking back.

* * *

"I'm just saying," Hayley reiterates, arm behind her head, easing out her tricep, "we should go say congrats." She nearly strangles herself pointing over at the Great Britain women's team training in the back section of the hall. "Since it's the first time they've made the team final in, like, ever. It is ever, right? It's ever," she concludes when no one answers.

"Sorry, Hayley, but we can't," Lauren says with a sharp smile. "Considering other people's feelings isn't something we do in gymnastics, is it, Payson?"

The three of them are prepping to run their beam routines. Payson ignores Lauren, too busy watching Sasha's conversation with Steve across the hall.

"Oh," Lauren's smile curdles, "I see RoboPayson is back." She juts out her hip to provide its usual shelf for the hand she jams against it. "Or maybe we should rename you MeanPayson. Or, I know, how about Doesn't Give A Crap About Her So-Called Friends Payson."

Hayley shifts her eyes between Lauren and Payson. "I'm just going to go over there now," she says, with fake brightness, and flees.

Alone, Lauren's sarcasm gives way to anger. She steps in front of Payson, close enough to block Payson's view of the rest of the hall. "Look, if you don't want to help me get Summer and Sasha back together, fine, be an unfeeling bitch, but at least help me convince Sasha to let me put some full pirouettes into my bars routine."

Payson watches the strip lighting in the ceiling flicker, remembering the flames at gymnastics camp; she thought this version of Lauren had burned away in that fire.

"Your routine is solid," Payson says, clinical and detached, eyes coming to rest on Lauren's. "You don't need to make changes."

Lauren, high ponytail bouncing, slaps her arms across her chest and sits her weight back into her heels, glare she's levelling at Payson not wavering. "I do to have a shot in the all around."

Anger without focus is a waste of energy, disappointment carries the same penalty. Payson swallows, trying to visualise both reactions dripping away from her like drops of mercury from a broken thermometer. "You're not _in_ the all around."

With a deliberate twitch of her head, Lauren turns to look to the side of the hall where Kelly is having her ankle strapped by Mandy. The physio's expression is grim. Kelly, unaware she is being observed, has momentarily dropped her haughty facade and her face is rumpled with anguished pain.

Lauren looks back at Payson. "I realise she's your new BFF and all, but I didn't think friendship ever stopped Payson Keeler doing what was best for her team." There's a hint of jealously in Lauren's tone that Payson doesn't miss; Lauren never did learn how to share.

"So benching Kelly is all about what's best for the team?" Payson raises her eyebrows.

Lauren snorts and shakes her head. "You just can't stand that I might actually be better than you, can you? That I might actually score higher if we go head to head."

Payson doesn't need to say that the only time Lauren was ever the superior athlete of the two was when Payson had a split in her spine. They're both thinking it.

Lauren's cheeks colour. "You remember what they say pride comes before? And look how well that worked out for you last time."

Regret at her quick retort is evident as soon as Lauren's mouth closes, but she's too stubborn to issue an apology, and Payson wouldn't hear it over the sudden rush of blood to her ears anyway.

"Sasha has given Kelly the day." Payson's voice is tight, her posture poker straight as she takes one step toward Lauren, making their proximity just the wrong side of comfortable.

"Even if he decides Kelly can't compete, the team competition still comes first, and I will sing however many verses of Hey Tanner you want. But after that's done? And we've collected our medals and given a big, shiny, USA smile to every camera with a flash? Add your pirouettes, throw in a pac salto, do whatever the hell you want to that bars routine. You said you're done with me? Well, I'm done with you too."

Lauren blinks first as she tries to muster a look of defiance to counter Payson's blank expression. Nothing comes. So she turns without further comment, walks away with more of a wobble and less of a strut than usually marks her gait.

Curling her toes against the mat, Payson counts the rapid double thuds of her heart and struggles to haul in the fractured threads of her attention. She feels a shadow fall at her side.

"Pain, one to ten, and don't lie to me." Payson tries to infuse a smile into the question but her voice is too jagged.

Sasha's attention remains forward, his bulky cast allowing him contact with Payson's arm without having to stand closer than would seem professional.

"Where?" His joke falls flat; that he has pain in more than one place is one of the many issues that are deflecting Payson's attention from her training. "Sorry," he murmurs, a little sheepish.

"What did Steve want?" Payson asks, watching Kelly stand and balance on her bad ankle. Thirty feet and Payson can still see the tremour.

A large sigh beside her. "Don't worry about it."

"Tell me." The time for keeping information from her to protect her is long gone; not that she ever liked such measures in the first place.

"I might not need to write up a resignation letter," Sasha says quietly, glancing around to check they have no eavesdroppers.

Payson holds her flinch inside. "Lauren?" she mutters. She catches Sasha's single nod in her peripheral vision.

"And Drea. And the crash. Bad publicity is Steve's biggest fear and he'll sure as hell throw me under the bus to spare his own hide, especially if I don't start showing favoritism to his daughter."

"You saved his ass by coming back to the Rock," Payson hisses. "He had the national team training at his gym in the lead up to Worlds and every camera and journalist who came with that."

"You know Tanner. His only loyalty is to himself and Lauren."

"I won't let him just screw you over," Payson murmurs, fierce in the sterility of her countenance.

Sasha's hand is half way up to cup her face when he remembers himself. "It's not me I'm worried about." He looks down at Payson.

"The training cam video," Payson sighs, eyes closing briefly.

Lauren was raked over the coals for alerting the NGO to a 'relationship' that Sasha and Payson both denied; there is no chance Steve or Lauren will ever accept this denial wasn't a lie if they discover the status of the relationship now.

"Retribution is a Tanner specialty," Sasha says, before shouting, "be right over!" to Marty's holler.

Payson runs her tongue over her teeth, her lips firmly shut as she glances round the hall, watches the spectacle of three countries worth of gymnasts honing every millimetre of their bodies. This is Worlds. This is one of the last training sessions before the biggest competition of her life.

Payson twists her gaze up to Sasha without moving her head. "The Tanners can go to hell," she says and sees a spark of pride and belief finally light Sasha's dull eyes. "Now, pain, one to ten, and don't lie to me."

"Eight," Sasha finally murmurs, interrupting before Payson can ask any follow ups, "but we'll be back in the States next week and I'll have time to recover then; _don't_ worry about me." His eyes bore down into her.

Payson lets a smile touch her expression. "Do not tell a future world champion what to do."

She marches past him, feeling his attention following her, his eyes tracking her movement, and if she puts a bit of an extra sway into her hips, well, every champion is allowed some swagger.


	39. Chapter 39

**CHAPTER THIRTY NINE**

This was not the plan. This is a long way removed from the plan. There was supposed to be a knock at the door, gasps of amazement, and a damn big hug. Stuck in traffic in a cab with Summer, in downtown Rio, being grilled about Sasha's love life, was not ever in the vague vicinity of the plan.

"I'm sorry, Kim, I'm monopolising the conversation aren't I?" Summer winces, a self deprecating hand pressed to her chest.

 _Yes, you are, but what else is new_ , Kim wants to say.

"Not at all." She plasters on a fake smile, holding it even when she looks out the taxi window, teeth beginning to grind. "How far did you say it was to the arena?"

"About fifteen minutes," Summer says, hyper organised brain immediately accessing the information. "Gosh, Payson is just going to be thrilled to see you."

Kim had been looking forward to her daughter's excitement, not Summer's rapturous dose of vicarious delight, but still, underneath the grouchiness of solo long-haul flying, she appreciates the younger woman's enthusiasm.

"She looked so pale on Skype when we talked after qualifying," Kim sighs, relieved to be able to voice her fears to a listening ear. "After what happened with Drea, and I know she's worried about Kelly no matter how many 'I'm fine, mom's she throws at me..."

"You knew she needed her mom," Summer finishes for her, almost misty eyed.

"Yeah," Kim nods, swallowing before she too succumbs to emotion.

"Why all the interest in Sasha, anyway?" Kim directs the conversation back to the topic Summer had launched into almost immediately after running into her in the hotel atrium. "Are you interviewing for the role of his Florence Nightingale?"

There is so much attempted nonchalance in Summer's shrug that Kim's curiosity, previously set at borderline, now shifts to suspicious.

"You said you were just here to support Lauren," Kim says, packing enough inference into the statement to have Summer paying the cab meter much more attention than before.

"I'm curious, that's all," Summer says, adopting her prim church-goer tone.

Kim resists the urge to roll her eyes. Just what she needs, another chapter of the Sasha - Summer story. She's had enough car crashes to deal with this month, thank you very much.

"Unless he's hooked up with a doctor since he's been here, I honestly don't think he's had time to date," Kim says. If Sasha wants to dream up a fake girlfriend to derail Summer's obvious renewal of interest, she'll leave it up to him.

"What do you know about Darby?" Summer's segue is even more unsubtle than her feigned indifference.

Kim doesn't hold back the snort. "Sasha and Darby? I think there's more chance of Sasha and Marty's eyes meeting across a crowded gym." The image amuses her though Summer looks less than impressed.

"Ok," she says, frowning. "Jules?"

Kim frowns. "You've made a list, haven't you?"

Summer's sheepish bite of her lip confirms Kim's guess. Something stirs in Kim's gut she has no name for. "Why are you so certain he's seeing someone?"

Latin music whistles from the cab's radio. Summer suddenly tenses. "So not Jules?"

Kim, making no effort to hide her suspicion or strange sensation of worry, continues to look at Summer. Jules has been with her girlfriend for years. It's not a secret but nor is it information Kim has ever felt right in imparting to Summer, considering Summer's orthodox views on relationships. "He's not with Jules," she says, voice firm enough to discourage further discussion.

Summer sits back in her seat, apparently out of names on her mental list of Sasha's potential conquests.

Tactical tolerance - required everyday as Rock manager - has kept Kim's shock at finding Summer in Rio in check, along with any reference to the last time they saw each other. She stares out the window at the numerous lanes of traffic, the Rio shop fronts and tenement buildings and office blocks, and wonders how long they can go without talking about what Lauren did.

The last five minutes of the cab ride, seeing nothing but Payson's face, knowing she'll be able to hold her daughter soon, has Kim's thigh jigging up and down in anticipation.

Mark didn't understand it when Kim announced she was going to Rio, but he didn't try and stop her. "You tell me when I need to start worrying," he had said at the airport gate just before he kissed her goodbye.

She's not entirely sure why she's flown thousands of miles on a hunch, but Kim learned young that instincts, though not necessarily things to be understood, are things to be heeded, especially when it comes to one of her children.

* * *

Summer knows Payson is not a particularly demonstrative girl so isn't surprised by the low key greeting she bestows upon her mother. There are no cheers and shrieks and bouncing hugs of delight, as had characterised her own reunion with Lauren, just wet eyes and a painfully tight hug that lasts until Kelly approaches the pair, her smile for once tentative.

When Kim overrides Kelly's raised hand of greeting with a hug that Kelly, after initially freezing, melts into, clinging to Kim hard enough that Summer can see the tightness of her fingers from this distance, Payson stands beside them with no jealousy or consternation in her expression, just a shared glance with her mother, understanding without words as Payson places one hand on Kelly's back and tips her own head onto her mother's shoulder.

"Oh, that is so wonderful," Darby sighs as she comes over to see Summer. "Did you know she was coming?"

Summer shakes her head. "I literally ran into her at the hotel an hour ago; I don't know which of us was more surprised."

Darby shares Summer's chuckle. "So are you doing okay?" she asks as they watch Marty walk up to greet Kim, smiling, hands raised in a mock surrender position. "You were very quiet at breakfast."

A longer acquaintance and Summer believes she and Darby will become friends; she wishes they were there already so she could share what happened with Sasha last night.

"I'm fine."

"You sure?" Darby says and Summer is touched by her concern. Perhaps sharing a little wouldn't hurt.

"I..."

A grunting wail interrupts Summer, and grabs the attention of half the enormous hall, everyone turning to locate the source of the continuing shriek.

"Oh my gosh," Darby giggles, hand to her mouth, as she and Summer watch Beth hurtle down the vault runway, roaring like a marauding banshee.

The caterwaul only breaks as Beth hits the springboard, hurls herself into an Amanar and spikes the landing with a slight shuffle of her feet to retain balance. Sasha approaches her as the small girl throws a brief salute. Summer and Darby share intrigued glances and edge a little closer so they can hear the exchange, though Summer is careful to remain out of Sasha's field of vision.

"Um," Sasha starts as Beth peers up at him, large eyes blinking. "What was that?"

Beth points at the vault. "An Amanar?"

"No, the bit before the Amanar."

Tiny shoulders shrug. "Tennis players do it."

"Do what?" Sasha looks down at Beth through narrowed eyes.

"Grunt," Beth concludes. "I thought I'd give it a try, see if it helped."

Darby chuckles into her fist. Summer can see the funny side too but wonders if Beth would benefit from some special coaching, more one on one attention than Sasha can offer.

"How about we leave the grunting to the tennis players," Sasha suggests, mussing up Beth's stubby ponytail.

"Okay," Beth agrees, entirely unperturbed by the whole encounter, even though the majority of people in the training hall are looking at her like she's just sprouted a tail.

"He is so good with them," Darby says as Sasha turns his attention back to the vault where Payson is ready to run, Kim watching from the side, one arm slung round Kelly's shoulders as she hollers a 'let's go, Pay'.

"He is," Summer agrees, sadness welling inside.

If they could just go back to how they were, Sasha as Rock coach, her as Rock manager, she knows they could make it work this time. If he was just willing to try. _Why is he not willing to try?_

"I know the team's had problems, and I don't agree with all his decisions, but he's so tolerant with the young ones and he's got a great rapport with the older girls, especially Payson," Darby finishes just as Payson, focus all on the task in hand, leans her weight back onto one foot, arms cocked at her sides, in preparation for her sprint.

Summer does not believe in coincidence. God etches the world together in a specific order. He has an intelligent design for all our fates, if only we have enough faith to notice the signs He sends.

Darby's choice to make her comment at this moment is not random, nor is the tension in Sasha's smile as he chooses this moment to finally greet Kim. The dominos start to fall in Summer's mind, the cause and effect realisation so many wrongly believe to be scientific rather than proof of the logic of a higher power.

The floor vibrates with the bass of Payson's falling feet. She hits the round off hard enough that her rebound from the springboard is strong. It's her connection with the vault table where things go wrong. Incorrect hand position leading to under twist leading to a messed up angle of descent; Summer does not need to hear the shocked gasp shoot through the other gymnasts to recognise the danger. Hit the mat still turning and a gymnast can dislocate her knees.

Darby's already sucking in a loud breath of panic as Summer braces for the impact, but neither of them will ever know what position Payson landed in. All they hear is the thud of skin on mat and Kim's pained cry of her daughter's name; their vision is blocked by Sasha's back as he sprints in front of them.

God was the originator of the chaos theory, finding order amidst the mayhem of a humanity who had yet to see the true light. Summer pays no attention to the thunder of feet running toward the vault, the sudden babble of fear rising through the hall, Darby's verbalised thought stream of what might have happened as the young coach sprints forward.

What she sees is Sasha drop to his knees on the mat just as Payson, legs folded awkwardly under her, sits up. She sees his hand immediately go to her face, holding tight as he fires panicked questions. She sees Payson, white with shock, grip Sasha's t-shirt as his hands run all over her checking for injury.

It's the final action, the one before a circle of worried onlookers closes around them, blocking them from view, in which Summer finds the reason she asked God to show her but immediately prays he'll take back.

In the smallest of moments, Payson rests her forehead against Sasha's, and their wide eyes, desperate and scared, the shields they both usually wear knocked away, see only the face before them.

Bare legs, jeans, tracksuit pants, a wall encircles the pair but Summer has already turned away. She aims for the small set of wooden bleachers at the side of the hall.

Corinthians 13:13 floats into her mind as she sits, hand on her chest. _And the greatest of these is love_.

"Oh no." Summer's distraught murmur is heard only by her own ears.

* * *

Too many helping hands are distorting her results. Payson ignores them and runs another internal scan, checking the movement of all her limbs. There's a pain in her thigh - which she allocates to bruising - but nothing else; no dislocations, no fractures. She breathes, waiting for the cement from her repaired spine to come ploughing through her chest cavity and into her lung. Instead, air flows sweet and clean.

"Payson?"

Kim is one side, Marty the other, talking over her. "Everything's moving; we should get her up."

"Ok, back off! Come on, move!" Kim's angry tone gets levelled at the hovering crowd - some with camera phones pointed to capture the moment - as she hooks Payson under one arm and helps her stand.

"Pay?" Marty is in front of her, hands on her shoulders, head ducked to look her in the face. He has to duck a lot less than he used to when they first met. "Damage?"

So many images, a bombardment of memories: Boston; the Rock; the hospital; the car - that damn car. Payson blinks, grimaces, trying to shut them down.

"Payson, what's the matter?" Marty is keeping his panic controlled. Just.

"Nothing," Payson whispers, throwing black paint across her mind, obliterating every image. " _Nothing_." It's a sharp snap this time. Her eyes lock onto a point on the floor about fifty feet away and stay there. Her usual steadiness flows back through her. Beside her, she feels her mother sigh.

"She's fine," Kim announces, arm around Payson as comfort for them both.

"Yup, she is," Marty agrees, blowing the air out of his cheeks in relief. "Alright, folks, nothing to see here." He glares at the other teams and coaches until they back away, chastised. "And you lot," he barks at Team USA, "back to work! Lauren let's go, DTY time."

Bare feet, sneakers, attention still aimed at the floor Payson watches countless of both patter off in all directions. She recognises Kelly's ankle strap, it halts momentarily as Payson feels a squeeze of her shoulder then walks purposefully away.

"I'll take her outside for some air." Sasha's voice is so level it's almost monotone. Payson feels his body at her side.

"Good idea," Kim agrees. "She'll tell _you_ the truth." There's a smile in the kiss Kim pushes to Payson's cheek.

"I'm fine, mom," Payson says, habitual words now a private joke between them.

"I know," Kim says, rubbing Payson's arm. "And are _you_ ok, Sasha? Hundred yard dash not too good for the ribs, I'm guessing?"

Payson closes her ears to Sasha's answer, points every facet of focus inwards. The only sense she keeps activated is sight so that she can walk to the doors without the need for Sasha's hand on her back as guide. She lets him choose their destination, remains one pace behind, following his feet.

The arena complex is massive and their training hall is buried in a warren of low corridors. Sasha seems to be navigating them further into the building rather than toward the exit. Two left turns and another right, strip lighting flickering and buzzing, leads them into a dead end corridor with two doors on either side. Sasha rattles each handle. They're both locked.

"Are you ok?"

Payson lifts her head. Sasha is standing by the nearest door, staring at the tiled floor. His eyes are wide and fixed. He's shaking; fear or medication overdose, Payson doesn't know which.

"I'm fine," Payson assures, stepping toward him. It's a smooth, careful motion as her arms hook round his neck. Her weight falls into her toes to stop it leaning too hard on his chest. His arms wrap her waist.

"I'm fine. I promise," Payson repeats, voice trickling through the quiet air, only having to compete with the light clank of pipes in the walls.

Sasha breathes into her shoulder. They're teetering, Payson can feel it. Their limits are being tested to breaking. She's scared to wonder how much further sheer will can carry them. They breathe together for a while, Payson holding a little tighter each time she feels the judder in Sasha's chest.

"So my mom's here," Payson says, relaxing her grip on Sasha's neck so she can lean back and look up at him.

"I noticed," Sasha sighs.

"And she came in with Summer."

Sasha directs a tense smile to the ceiling. "Noticed that too."

"We have to tell her about us," Payson says, though she has no idea how the hell she will even start that conversation.

Sasha frowns down at her. "Your mum or Summer?" He shrugs. "But since either will result in me being chucked off the nearest roof, I guess it makes no odds." His face gives way to an attempt at a sly grin Payson can't help but reciprocate.

"Very funny." She nudges her chin into his shoulder.

The moment of levity drains away too fast.

"Summer's really convinced you're seeing someone else?" Payson sighs, continuing the text conversation they had earlier.

Sasha wraps Payson up in his arms again and drops a tired kiss onto her head. "Yup," he sighs.

"At least I'm the last person she'd suspect? Right?" Payson offers, trying to find a brightside to the situation.

"Let's just concentrate on dealing with your mum," Sasha answers, which is as good as a no. Summer has a history of digging into relationships that have nothing to do with her, they both know that.

Even if they have delved far into the complex, there's still a big risk of being seen by some gymnast or journalist who has wandered away from the main pack and gotten lost. Sasha breaks the embrace after another kiss. "I think I just deputised Marty by default," he says as he steps away. "Give it ten minutes and every blog will have it up that he's running practice."

Though she would gladly hide out here for the rest of the day, Payson says, "we better get back."

Sasha takes Payson's face between his hands and presses a gentle kiss to her lips.

"So will those ribs of yours be up to dancing at the party tonight?" she asks.

Sasha recognises the real question in her light smile. "I'm okay, Pay."

This time, it's Payson who initiates the kiss, gently taking hold of Sasha's chin and pulling him to her. Even that small action causes a flare of pain to shudder across his expression.

"No, you're not," she murmurs, sadly.

When they walk back into the gym, they are deep in discussion about how to land the 1.5 layout vault Payson is readying to run again. Neither pays attention to how closely Summer is watching them from the bleachers. If either did, the hand Sasha has resting on Payson's lower back would not have lingered so long.


	40. Chapter 40

**CHAPTER FORTY**

There's an outlet down by the floor to the right of their door. Payson stoops, plugs in her curlers, wets a finger to check the temperature. Skin sizzles on ceramic. She wraps a thin lock round the hot barrel, shifts her weight onto one hip and reaches back, checking that their hotel room door is firm in its frame. She doesn't want the music swelling from Beth's room wafting through to where Kelly is lying on her bed, pretending to watch a movie. The dismissive mask of arrogance it took Payson so long to realise anything was beneath is in place of course, but the strain of maintaining indifference to first her ankle injury, and now absence from a party the rest of the team is preparing for, is beginning to show.

"If you like Pina Coladas! Getting caught in the rain!"

Beth's musical tastes appear to have stalled in the last century if Bob Seger followed by Michael Bolton followed by Rupert Holmes is a large enough sample to make such a determination. Payson smiles lightly at the half open door of Beth and Drea's room – just Beth's room now, she corrects herself – as Beth's singing drifts through; at least someone's excited about this party.

Absent minded, she lets her attention roam to the other end of the short corridor, the two elevators, the small window bolted shut for safety. She suddenly misses the clean Colorado air, misses jogging the park route with Phoebe at the first hint of sunrise, but regretting what is her choice – no one's forcing her to be in Rio – is something Payson tries never to do. Angrily, she turns round, calculating how long it will take to shimmy into her dress without ruining her makeup, and finds that surprise is another consequence of daydreaming.

"I'm sorry," Summer says, one hand going to Payson's shoulder to steady her stance. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you."

"No problem," Payson smiles through gritted teeth, patch of skin burning where inattention has knocked the curlers into her neck.

Summer, wearing a sky blue strapless dress that perfectly brushes the floor with a flowing hem, is standing right in front of her. Payson berates herself for comparing her rushed crop of ringlets with Summer's well groomed waves. "Something up?" she prompts.

"Looking forward to tonight?" Summer answers a question with a question, smile unwavering, though Payson doesn't like the slight crumple she sees in Summer's eyes.

"Be nice to get out of the hotel," Payson says neutrally, defences starting to go up.

"And you get to ride in a limo." Summer's sparkles like she's expecting Payson to do some kind of jig at the prospect of riding in an oversized car with Lauren bleating away about how "this is the way daddy and I _always_ travel."

Payson nods, using the curling iron as distraction to look away from Summer's intense gaze. Another section of hair secure, she looks back and catches Summer in the act of surveying her outfit of vest and cheerleading shorts with a prim eye.

"Look, Payson," Summer says quickly, glossing over the awkward moment as Payson looks at her stonily. "I just want you to know that if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here." She bites her lip and furrows her brow, the usual traits of shifting into saviour mode that always makes Payson equal parts suspicious and annoyed. "It's a stressful time, I know, and sometimes..." Summer pauses unexpectedly. Payson starts to tense. "Sometimes it's easy to lose track of the right path."

If there's a cryptic bent to her words, Summer displays no such shield in her expression. She's puckered with sincerity, watching Payson's reaction with an intensity that has Payson struggling not to back away.

"I'm fine," Payson answers quietly, not daring to blink for fear of confirming whatever suspicion Summer is clearly collecting evidence for. Summer stares at her a moment longer and Payson spots the traces of something less than kind lurking beneath the apparently concerned surface. "But thanks," she adds, words cold, as the elevator dings behind her and familiar – and extremely welcome – voices spill out.

"Are we really thinking this is the image we want to project?" Kim is saying as she and MJ approach. "Hey sweetie," she smiles at her daughter, "I see you're going with the casual part of the smart/casual dress code." She drops a kiss on Payson's half-curled head to punctuate the affectionate joke. Unlike Summer and the other adults on this floor, Kim seems to realise that wearing short shorts does not denote a career shift into prostitution.

"Did you get a room sorted okay?" Payson asks.

"Reece is a wonder," Kim smiles.

"I'd drive a bank truck up to her front door if it would tempt her away from the NGO. A personal assistant like that would be worth busting my overdraft," MJ says. She's wearing a grey fitted dress with a hint of shimmer that catches in the light.

Before Payson can ask any further questions, Summer butts in.

"You guys were talking about projecting an image?"

"Yes," Kim nods, as if suddenly remembering, and gesturing to her daughter's manager, "MJ says there is a rep from Calvin Klein going to be at the party tonight and she wants to speak to Payson."

"Calvin Klein?" Payson repeats, genuinely surprised. MJ had mentioned wanting to gear towards more mature advertisers; Payson just wasn't expecting her to work quite so fast. "Wow."

"No details yet, but they're very interested in setting up some meetings; they really like your attitude and your look," MJ says, smiling encouragingly at Payson, driving enthusiasm into an idea that Kim and Summer seem to be sharing looks of concern over.

"Isn't Calvin Klein a little too," Summer searches for the word, "risqué for Payson, I mean considering her age?"

Payson bristles. "You mean Calvin Klein's too little all-American Sunday school and too much all-American slut?"

There's a moment's silence.

"Payson," Kim warns, quiet and firm, but Summer waves it away with an awkward smile.

"It's ok," Summer says, so nauseatingly sweet Payson's expression sours further. "I'm just watching out for you."

This time, it's Kim who bristles. "Thank you for your concern," she smiles sharply.

Whether Summer notices Kim's indignation at the inference that there is no one else watching out for Payson, she isn't sure; Summer's always had the knack of upsetting people without realising in the course of her attempts to 'help'.

"Any decision on Kelly yet?" MJ asks Payson, adept at conversational manipulation when an awkward pause becomes almost painful.

"She's watching a movie," Payson says, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. "And no," she adds, answering MJ's question. "Not that we've heard anyway."

"Shall I check on her?" Summer offers, lightly mascaraed eyelashes bouncing with desire to comfort another broken soul.

Kim gets in before Payson can issue a blunt rebuttal. "Why don't you go see if Lauren and Hayley need any help. I'll look in on Kelly."

"Good idea," Summer agrees, nodding enthusiastically, but her excitement at being involved in ensuring the girls' welfare is not great enough to stop her meeting Payson's eye as she turns to leave. "Remember what I said," she tells her quietly and Payson's teeth set together.

"Remember what she said?" Kim asks as soon as Summer has disappeared into Lauren's room and wisely shut the door behind her.

"I wasn't listening," Payson replies, which she certainly wishes was the truth.

Kim makes a hum of acknowledgement and then, round a scoffed mutter, repeats Summer's words, "watching out for you."

"Is someone being struck off the Keeler Christmas card list?" MJ observes dryly.

"Ha ha," Kim replies with a wry smile. "Drama follows her like it follows Lauren," she says, more serious, "and I think we've all just about had our fill of drama."

Luckily, she's turning toward the hotel room door to check on Kelly so doesn't see the look Payson and MJ exchange.

"You need any help with your hair, hon?" she asks Payson, hand on the door knob.

"I'm good, thanks mom," Payson says, smile tight.

"Ok," Kim smiles and rolls her eyes as she opens the door. "Yell if you need 'watching out for'."

As the door closes, MJ takes up position leaning against the wall, nonchalantly checking her buffed and polished nails. "So I'm guessing from the lack of Sasha's testicles splattered across the corridor that you haven't told your mum yet?"

Payson contemplates sticking her fingers in the plug outlet.

"Poor choice of words?" MJ ventures, the picture of innocence as she meets Payson's glare.

"We will tell her," Payson assures, choosing not to rise to her manager's attempts at levity. She straps another lock of hair into the curlers, burning her fingers in her eagerness to get her damn hair finished. "But I think we've got another problem."

"Well that's a novelty," MJ quirks an eyebrow then wrests the hair curlers from Payson, "and give me those before you set yourself on fire."

"Summer wants Sasha back, Sasha told her he's not interested, and now she's starting to dig about _why_ he's not interested." Payson condenses the story, leaving out her earlier conversation with Sasha, and that she was apparently very wrong in believing she would be the last person Summer would suspect of being a rival for his affections.

"She know anything for sure?" MJ says, curling the back sections of Payson's hair.

Payson shakes her head and receives a flick to the arm to remind her to stay still. "No, but she was going on about it being a stressful time, and how easy it would be to make the wrong decisions right now, and if I needed to talk to her I could."

"How kind."

Payson, struggling to stand still, starts chewing the inside of her cheek instead. She really doesn't want to mention this. "And then," she starts.

"Oh, bugger," MJ sighs.

"You don't even know what I'm going to say," Payson shoots back.

"I know your 'we have yet another problem' tone without you having to use those exact words, Payson," MJ says, yanking a little hard on an uncooperative lock of hair. "If you could start learning my 'oh bugger' tone without me having to use those exact words, it'd be helpful."

Payson folds her arms, frowning, almost glad of feeling a slice of annoyance to buoy her. "You've known Sasha a while, right?"

"Hmmm." MJ never commits to words until she knows the direction of a conversation.

"Has he ever, I don't know. I've heard rumours, I mean there are always rumours, but..."

"Payson, spit it out."

Payson, ignoring the potential for third degree burns, turns her neck so she can look MJ in the eyes. "Did Sasha ever have a problem with alcohol or drugs?"

Not a feature on MJ's face moves a fraction as she stares down at the smaller girl. "Why would you ask that?"

Payson matches MJ's stillness though her pulse rate has just spiked. "The amount of pills he's taking and...and I keep smelling whisky on him," she pauses, eyes flicking from wall to ceiling.

"You said anything to him?" MJ is still unmoving. Payson, almost fearful of the woman's perfect neutrality, simply shakes her head.

MJ studies Payson for the longest of seconds then seems to come to a decision. "Callus as it sounds, Sasha's self-medication will have to be tomorrow's problem."

When Payson opens her mouth to protest, MJ pushes her firmly by the shoulder to twist her back round. "It's a much longer conversation than we have time for," she explains, her tone a little warmer, her voice a lot quieter, "but short answer to your original question, yes."

A wave of nausea sweeps over Payson and she starts to turn her head again. "So he was an addic..."

"Another conversation we are going to have at a date in the _very_ near future is what words you say out loud in a public place," MJ mutters, harsh enough for Payson to stay silent.

"One problem at a time. If Summer does suspect a relationship because her Christian sin-radar is starting to bleep some morse code message about you failing the Rapture test, it's good that we know."

"What if she says something to my mom before Sasha and I do?"

"Your mom will not believe anything unless she hears it from you."

 _True enough_ , Payson thinks. She's not even sure her mom will believe her when she does hear it from her.

"The tactic I want you employing with everyone not a Keeler or a Parker is no comment, ok?" MJ's saying. "You hear a rumour, you ignore it. Someone tries to lead you into a conversation like – what does Kelly call blondy?"

"Sister Mary Sunshine," Payson smiles tiredly.

"Like Sister Mary Sunshine did, you fall back on the professional line that you're only focused on gymnastics. I don't care how rude you have to be." MJ glances round the corridor to check it's still empty. "We can control this but we need time. I need to be able to get the public to forget your age and you need the NGO doing whatever is necessary – and turning a blind eye to whatever we ask them – to keep you on side for the Olympics next year."

"How well do I have to medal?" Payson asks. She performs to win every time but gone are the days of ignoring the confines of reality.

MJ clicks her tongue. "You get me a team medal and an individual gold and I can get you to the Olympics next year as the premier gymnast on the US team."

Payson feels a spark of challenge ignite them both. "You're that good?" she asks, wry smile coating a resurgence of enthusiasm she didn't think she had the energy left to feel today.

"No, love, _you're_ that good." MJ smirks as she adds, "and so am I."

Payson shakes her head, laughter airy but there. Curling irons don't burn her head this time so she risks a glance round. MJ's standing a few paces back, brandishing the irons like a gunslinger that just landed a crackshot. Her sharp attention has flicked to the other end of the corridor before Payson even hears the growing sound of chatter.

"One more thing," she says, urgently, ducking down to Payson. "The potential sponsors we're meeting tonight? I'm going to be laying the foundations of Sasha being involved in some way, just so you're not surprised if I take the conversation in that direction."

"What?" Payson hisses back, hastened by the echo of footfalls coming closer.

"I'm good, Payson, but even I need contingencies," MJ admits.

"I don't understand," Payson says quickly.

"You don't have to; you just have to trust me." MJ's eyes are fierce. Trust is not something Payson gives easily but she finds herself nodding. "Good," MJ flicks a smile and touches Payson's arm, "and you have my word I will not break that trust."

"Miss Keeler?"

Payson spins round. Standing at the corridor intersection, Marcus and Ellen are looking in her direction, Marcus with a hand up, a gesture to accompany his verbal summons. "Can we have a word?"

Paranoid, Payson considers the acoustics of the hallway, wonders if some air duct has carried her conversation with MJ into the other corridor.

"I'll see you at the party." MJ's promise cracks Payson's panic.

"Yeah," Payson replies, calming her breathing. "See you at the party." She doesn't look back as she moves away, bare feet firm on the carpet, a deliberate strut to her walk. She'll borrow MJ's shield of neutrality for this conversation.

"Pay!"

Beth bounces after her voice, springing from the shadows of her hotel room. Payson's more amused than startled as the young gymnast catches her wrist.

"What do you think?" Beth waggles Payson's arm, twisting with exuberance. "The dress?" She fills in, when Payson tries and fails to connect the dots.

"Oh," Payson smiles, realising, then taking a good look at Beth. She doesn't care she's keeping Marcus and Ellen waiting. "Beth," she glows, "you look awesome."

"Really?" Beth beams, two rows of perfect teeth exposed to the air conditioning system.

She's wearing a fifties style dress, sleeveless with a high neck. It's a simple black material but the dress is far from drab. The layers upon layers of tulle under the skirt are each a different colour, vibrancy matching the mary janes on Beth's feet that have been hand painted with a rainbow pattern.

Beth looks Payson up and down. "I like your outfit too."

Anyone else would have been mocking her. Payson laughs. "Beth, I'm not dressed for the party yet."

"You're not?" Beth says, and Payson honestly cannot tell if she's joking. "Well, your hair looks pretty."

"Why, thank you," Payson gives a little bow and a deprecating shake of her mass of curls.

"Miss Keeler." This time, Ellen's voice hooks through the corridor, sounding like it's taking a hell of a lot of effort not to add "sometime this century would be nice". Payson flicks a far from deferential look at the two NGO reps.

"I'll be back in a minute," Payson says to Beth, attention still locked on Ellen.

"Kay," Beth agrees, as she observes the situation. For a second, her grip on Payson's wrist tightens, then she's letting go and retreating back to her room. This time, the only singing audible is from the tinny speakers.

Payson doesn't dip her head, or even her eyes, as she walks over to Ellen and Marcus.

"Maybe we should.." Marcus gestures to the other side of the corridor, out of earshot of any potential eavesdroppers, already turning the corner, expecting Payson to follow. Curiosity is the only reason she does.

"Your teammates are falling like flies, Miss Keeler." Ellen has the good sense not to look too triumphant in front of the man who controls the job she covets, though her smugness is still overpowering.

"You wanted to see me?" Payson says to Marcus, making it clear she gives no credence to Ellen's assumed authority.

The man nods gravely. "Yes," he says, "and though Ellen's choice of words is a little unwise," he directs a pointed look that Ellen acknowledges with a conciliatory nod so insincere Payson almost laughs aloud, "the team is certainly not in the position any of us would wish."

Payson's not about to deny the truth. "So a decision's been made about Kelly?"

"This team needs a leader right now, Payson," Marcus says, sidestepping the question. "We need you to take up that role."

"I thought I already had," Payson says quietly, fixing Marcus with a half smile.

Marcus smiles, as much kindness in the expression as Payson has in hers. God, she hates the two-faced nature of politics.

"You have," he concedes, "especially after your accident." There's emphasis on the last word that Payson has a hard time swallowing.

"So what more do you need me to do?" she asks, her toes curling hard against the carpet.

"I think we all realise that Coach Belov is not operating at one hundred percent," Marcus says, thin smile watering down his accusation.

Anger flushes through Payson. "We qualified _first_ in the team competition. Four of us scored over 58 in the individual. I'd say he was operating just fine."

"Well, if anyone's to know how he's _operating_ , it's you."

Payson glares at Ellen in shock, waits for Marcus to smack her down for the inappropriate inference, because there sure as hell isn't any other way for that statement to be taken.

"Ellen," Marcus murmurs, and if that's a rebuke it's the smallest Payson's ever heard.

Panic starts to mix in with Payson's fury. Something's changing even as they stand here. "What's this about?" she murmurs back, disliking how young her voice suddenly sounds.

Marcus wipes a hand over his forehead and swallows, though, when he looks at Payson again, she sees none of the nervousness such gestures usually accompany. "You are a smart girl, Payson," he says, and Payson can't help it, she winces at his use of her first name, "but you need to be careful which horse you hitch your wagon to."

Payson's spent a career taking smack-talk from her competitor's far worse than what Marcus has just thrown at her, but it's the first threat that's ever truly unnerved her.

"We noticed some contention between you and Miss Tanner at practice today," Ellen says.

"Difference of opinion over her bars routine," Payson hears herself say. She feels far away, she doesn't know how her voice sounds so loud from this distance, so cold. "We came to a compromise." She brings her eyes up to look at Marcus and she knows it's snapped, any loyalty she had left for the NGO, for the organisation that, not a year ago, she would have unquestionably followed. "Anything else?" There's a waver this time, a quiver to the question she refuses to feel shame for.

"A decision has been made about Kelly," Marcus says, switching back to his usual attitude without any sign the previous conversation just happened. "You'll all know..." His cell phone starts to ring. "I need to take this," he says, glancing at the screen as he pulls it from his pocket.

"Enjoy the party, Miss Keeler." His words linger then quickly fade; he's turned away, phone to his ear before he bothers to register if they have been heard.

Payson concentrates on the steady thud of her heartbeat. She remembers the feel of Sasha's pulse under her cheek last night.

"Go on," she says, issuing the challenge without looking away from the busy pattern on the wall opposite. "I know you've got something to say."

Ellen needs no further invitation. "Do I believe you should be here?" she waits for Payson to look at her, and smiles at Payson's insolent stare. "No, I do not, but you are here," she pushes on, "and your tenacity to remain whilst others around you have fallen is not something to be ignored." She folds her arms. "You have options, Payson."

"I'm listening," Payson says, unmoving.

Ellen's lips flick up her cheeks. "Belov's finished, we both know that. But that doesn't mean you have to be." She steps toward Payson, a slither of opportunism that makes Payson's skin crawl. "Come back to the NGO, we'll draw a line under everything that's happened. Let us help you."

Payson smirks. "You mean control me." Her derision has Ellen stepping back, hands raised in surrender, though it doesn't wipe the smarmy confidence from Ellen's expression.

"The offer's there, Pay," Ellen says, so saccharinely understanding Payson's eyes flare, "and God knows working with us instead of against us would make your life easier – I thought that might appeal to you after the year you've had."

"So 'us' is you and the NGO? Let you off probation did they?" It's a weak shot but Payson has to throw something.

Ellen shrugs her eyebrows. "You've nearly killed yourself to get where you are. Remember that before you risk it all on some guy who only wasn't thrown out of the sport because alcohol isn't a banned substance." She moves past Payson with a slight brush of shoulders. "Oh," she shoots over her shoulder, "and nice shorts."

Alone in the corridor, Payson waits, watches her hands tremble, clenches them into fists beside her thighs. She tells her feet to move, tells her shoulders to drop. _Information; everything that just happened can be sifted down to gaining information_. Her jaw is shuddering. When she puts the back of her palm to her face to hold it steady, water drops float over her skin.

At the corridor intersection, she wants to slam a fist through the wall, scream at anyone listening to stop treating her like she will ever be controlled by others or even her own heart. Voices spring from the other hallway, what's left of a team it is her duty to lead.

"Limo leaves in twenty minutes," Payson says as, composed and poised, she walks into her half of the corridor. "You guys ready?"

Lauren, strutting down the hall like it's a red carpet – which, for the purposes of practice, she and Hayley are pretending it is – points a look at Payson. "Says the girl in the butt shorts."

A flick of her super high ponytail dismisses Payson and Lauren turns to Hayley. "You see, it's all about the hips."

Hayley nods, eyes wide in concentration. Payson ignores Lauren's fake-whispered comment of, "I wouldn't ask Pay for tips, she's only walked a red carpet in a back brace" and addresses Hayley directly.

"Just because it's a party, the press won't let up on trying to get us to say something about Drea. Just 'no comment' everything and smile, okay?"

Again, Hayley nods vigorously before Lauren grabs her hand and drags her off to the end of the corridor to "practice walking hotly".

Her heartbeat is still the loudest thing Payson can hear and she doesn't notice Beth appear beside her until the young girl is again gripping her wrist. Payson glances down. Beth points a finger toward the end of the corridor.

Sasha's hotel room door has opened. One look at the grim expressions he and Marty are wearing as they walk toward her, and Payson knows Kelly's dream of defending her all around title will have no last minute reprieve.

* * *

"You know, I always tell Payson that if she pities me I'll slap the look off her face," Kelly says. She's stretched out on her bed, eyes on the TV.

"You're going to slap me?" Kim smiles with bemusement.

Kelly raises her eyes to look across at Kim sitting on the dresser stool. "Are you pitying me?"

"Far from it," Kim assures, watching the tight set of Kelly's shoulders, the sheen in her eyes Kelly would blame on non-existent allergies. "We don't know Sasha's decision yet, anyway."

Kelly's scoff is audible over the television chatter. "We know the decision."

A sigh and Kim lets her falsely cheery disposition drop, "Yeah, I guess we do," she admits. "Does it count as pity if I tell you I'm sorry?"

Staring at the TV again, Kelly shrugs. "Say it if you want, not that it'll help." This is the Kelly Parker the world knows well, attitude an inch thick.

Becca was thrilled at seeing her collage hung up in the hotel room during her first Skype conversation with Payson. Kim looks at the photos now, the smiling faces of her family. It doesn't go unmissed by the mother of two that the only personal effect on Kelly's side of the room is the good luck bear Kim herself bought her.

"You said in your text you called him Bear, right?" she asks, standing slowly, heart clenching a little when she sees that Kelly's folded arms are tight enough that nails are visibly digging into skin.

"She's a her," Kelly mutters. "And yeah, she's called Bear," she adds, as Kim carefully picks up the teddy and perches on the edge of Kelly's mattress.

"It's a good name." Kim eases some fluff from the four leaf clover.

"It's a stupid name but I couldn't think of anything else." Kelly's jaw clenches tighter. "My mother was never big on stuffed animals."

Kim takes a deep breath. "What about your dad?"

If possible, Kelly becomes even more still. Her eyes don't leave the TV but Kim would bet her air fare home that Kelly couldn't name the movie she's been watching for the past hour.

The next minute is long. Kim cannot read what reaction is coming.

"I do still see my dad." Kelly's voice is surprisingly gentle. "If that's what you're asking." She looks at Kim, who has to mask her surprise at the sudden change in Kelly's eyes, the tentative affection.

"Subtlety was never my strong point," Kim admits, with a wry smile.

"Like mother, like daughter," Kelly murmurs, lips quirking.

"What do you mean?"

"Nevermind." When Kelly smiles, she dislodges the tears that have been stubbornly pooling on her lash line. Embarrassed, she swipes at her face.

Kim holds out an arm, knowing words are not what Kelly needs right now. Cautiously, and without looking at Kim, Kelly shuffles over to the edge of the mattress until they are sitting side by side. Kim doesn't move. Still aiming her gaze to the floor, Kelly, ever so slowly, leans into the proffered arm. Kim grips Kelly's shoulder tight, holding her close.

The quiet embrace lasts until there is a knock at the door.

* * *

"She's up on bars in the team final, and the event final," her mom says as Payson comes into the room.

It's what she and Kelly expected, what they discussed this morning, but the finality still brings a lump to Payson's throat. She shares a distressed look with her mother, but does not indulge in the tears of frustration she really wants to shed.

"Sasha's telling Lauren now," Kim continues, rubbing her daughter's arms. Payson didn't even realise she had broken out in goosebumps.

"You'll hear the shrieks any minute." Kelly is on the balcony, palms braced on the barrier as she leans back to glare up at the sky.

Payson tries to think of something consoling to say, but her brain is swirling with too many conversations, too many agendas, to conjure up anything more original than 'this sucks'.

"Come on, sweetie," Kim encourages. "Time to get dressed.

While Kim bustles about, collecting the various party accoutrements to go in Payson's clutch bag, Payson strips off her shorts and vest and shimmies into her purple mini dress. As she hooks in her silver drop earrings, Payson notices Kelly has come in from the balcony and is pulling on track pants and a sports bra.

"Headed down to the gym," Kelly explains, dragging her hair into a high ponytail. "Not all of us Cinderellas get to go to the ball." The sarcasm is a little feeble by Kelly's usual standards but Payson reacts as expected and rolls her eyes.

"Back in a second," Kim throws over her shoulder as she trots out the jacked open door.

Alone, Payson opens her mouth to say something to her friend, but Kelly gets in first. "As I won't be there to chaperone - and although I now know where you get it from 'cause your mom is as bad as it as you are - I will remind you of our word of the month. Say it with me, Keeler."

Payson sighs as she tucks a strand of forgotten hair behind Kelly's ear.

"Subtle," the girls say in unison, sharing another smile that is more pain than joy.


	41. Chapter 41

**CHAPTER FORTY ONE**

Daylight's last embers cut past the growing clouds in white bursts. Sasha stares through the gaps between buildings, brightness burning his exhausted eyes as the limo inches a path through the crowded centre of Rio.

"Chover," the driver announces, peering through the windshield, sober eyes turned to the sky.

Sasha looks at the driver, a man of about his own age, and waits. His language skills only cover the choppy consonants of English and Romanian, where words snap like cleavers on a butcher's block; he has never mastered the lilting flow of Portuguese or Spanish.

"Rain?" The driver guesses, shooting a look at Sasha, waiting for a nod of confirmation of the translation before returning to studying cloud formation.

Sasha tips his head toward the passenger window. The bristling patches of light he was relying on to keep him awake have vanished. Now, fast moving swirls of acrid grey are chasing each other through a sky far more ominous than Sasha ever expected to see in this city where eternal blue supposedly halos the statue of Christ.

"Ploaie," he murmurs, the word gone before he realises he's spoken in Romanian.

"Later," the driver lands a good natured slap on Sasha's arm then gestures at the general world outside the limo with both hands. "It rain later. Party first!"

He wears a broad smile suddenly, turning up the radio and shooting quick-fire protestations at his fellow drivers, shrugging back on the optimistic facade that is his mandatory uniform when dealing with tourists.

"Good choice front seat!" He laughs loudly when a wave of noise floats through from the gymnasts in the back seat, and again hits Sasha's arm in solidarity.

Sasha doesn't feel any pain. Somewhere it registers that such numbness might not be a good thing, but for now he follows the river of lights flowing past the window at his level, wishing the rain would start already, wanting to stand beneath a pouring deluge, open his veins with a blade, let the water flow in and wash his bloodstream clean.

The city looms and rolls in the late dusk. Sasha only finds his bearings when the car swings on to the main promenade. Cannons of once-white concrete lit up fire-cracker bright line one side of the street. Opposite, a steel-grey ocean churns over deserted sand.

"Party time!" the driver announces, dragging the limo to a halt, smacking Sasha on the arm and throwing open the door, all seemingly in the same motion.

The clank and thud of countless engines and the hummed babble of voices rush in before the door lands back in its frame with a thunk. Sasha gives himself no time to hesitate. He drives energy into the handle, deliberately using his broken arm to shove the door open as he steps from the car.

Liquid heat sucks into his lungs, the thick humidity only a city can conjure. Sasha coughs in shock, eyes automatically searching for the ocean he knows should be there, but he can't see past the streetlights and the headlights and the flashlights, blazing yellow bullets that narrow his already tired vision to the ground in front of him. He follows the line of the limo instead, aims towards its ejected cargo of colours and voices grouped on the sidewalk, an indistinguishable mash of sparkle.

"Coach! Can you take a photo of me in front of the hotel with all the cameras behind? It'll look awesome for my Facebook." A phone is shoved up at his face. Polka dots. Yellow and purple. Which girl was wearing that dress?

Sasha's trying to hang on to some sense of time but just as he manages to connect to one second, the rest of the world moves on to the next.

Something knocks his elbow. It's a light brush, a typical consequence of crowds, and yet he stumbles, one foot lurching into the road, landing at an awkward angle between the limo and the curb.

"Sasha?"

A hand takes his arm. The scent of familiar perfume lingers from the body suddenly next to him. A sharp gust slices off the water and blows blonde hair against his cheek.

"He'll do anything to get out of having his photo taken." Payson's face is turned away from him. The joking lilt is still in her expression as she takes her attention from the laughing photographers and only betrays the lie that it is when she's shielded, when it's only Sasha who can see her.

"Can you do this?" The demand is urgent and low. Her pale face is framed with curls she's tucking back behind her ears, glinting with the gold of reflected light. She is unshaken, she is always unshaken; why can't he find the strength to match hers tonight?

"I'm going to take total silence as a 'yes'." Her mutter is too quiet to survive long, is sucked up into the atmosphere and scattered as she takes Sasha by the elbow and drags him in her wake.

Flat silver shoes, Sasha watches Payson's feet fall one in front of the other, flashbulbs bleaching her bare legs white every few seconds as she manoeuvres him down the walkway set up between the curb and the hotel entrance toward the main bank of photographers.

"Camera shy." Payson rolls her eyes round the excuse as they join the rest of the team jockeying for position in the obligatory team snap.

Shoved between Darby and Payson, Sasha stares blindly at the seemingly single entity of limbs directing and coaxing then dismissing as soon as the photo is right.

If possible, it's even louder inside. Noise rains down from the lofted atrium, bouncing from tile to tile. Sasha's eyes won't work fast enough, can only identify one feature of every person that passes by - a laughing mouth, a wrinkled nose - and soon the entire crowd becomes one distorted face.

Strong fingers still clutch his elbow, tight in the crumpled fabric of his grey jacket. Music, scaldingly loud, forces his eyes shut, but it's the sudden cramp in his stomach that has Sasha pulling free of those fingers, has him threading through the hustling press of people he wishes didn't recognise his face, deliberately not looking back to see if a streak of blonde and purple is following.

He guides by the curve of the reception desk, then the straight wall, honing in on the clatter of crockery. He won't remember if people moved from his path or if he just barged right through. A right angle turn and he's opposite the entrance of the hotel restaurant. Amidst the dizziness of nausea, he spots the men's bathroom door.

The tug is strong, a wrench from behind, and his feet barely react in time, only just manage to compensate for the course change as he is dragged into a window alcove half way up the corridor.

Payson is fuzzy even though she stands near enough that Sasha can sense her pulse. His whole world is fuzzy; everything muted edges and colour washes that mean nothing. He suddenly feels the strong fingers again, this time holding his jaw not his elbow.

"What have you taken?" The question weaves itself into the Latin beat thrumming through the walls beside them. The fingers press prints into his skin.

"I..." Sasha wants to answer. He closes his eyes again, frowning, thinking, pushing down the suffocating fist that's fighting to slide up his gut. Memories of the day drift back, and anger, frustration, guilt, fast follow. He twists his head side to side, eyes squeezing tighter.

"Hey, come on, it's ok, I'm here."

His other cheek, covered in a bandage he doesn't recalling taping on, is clasped, palm held light but strong enough to stop the movement of his shaking head.

"Say that again?"

Head held in her hands, Sasha looks down at Payson.

"I said something?" His stomach lurches and the fuzzy world sways. He clings to the soles of his shoes, wondering if he's talking now.

"You don't know what you've taken?" Her green-eyed anger is enough to confirm that words are leaving his mouth.

He remembers the pills falling into his hand, mind so distracted after telling Kelly that she was out of the all around that he didn't bother to count the white circles littering his palm. His taste buds provide the recollection that Red Bull and whiskey, not water, had followed them down.

"Sasha."

There is pain and anger in the way Payson breathes his name; he expected nothing less, he knows he deserves nothing less. But there's something else, a resonance hidden within the letters, within the wide eyes that are the only thing he can now see, something that has him suddenly gripping her hips with a desperation that will leave bruises.

Instinctively dropping her hold on his face, Payson says his name again, and again he sees it. Through her face runs an unmistakable flare of fear.

His palm collides hard with the wood, hinges snapping wide as the bathroom door flies open. The nearest stall is blessedly free and Sasha's knees crack hard on the tiles as he falls, catching the toilet bowl with shaking hands just as his stomach folds inside out. Agony hammer-blows through his chest, every wrench of his gut pulling apart his fragile rib-cage until the world explodes in white light.

When thought returns, Sasha finds that he is standing beside a marble sink, running water splashing loudly from the faucet. The bandage over his face is soaking and he strips it off, hurls it into the trash can. Drops fall from the spikes of his hair, his eyelashes, his burning mouth. The reflection that greets him is ugly but clear, fuzziness exchanged for razor-sharp edges that sting his eyes.

Deep breaths bring him through the panic, remind him where he is. He grips the edge of the sink, leans his weight and hangs his head. It's been years since the last time and yet the belief is still there; his broken belief that in the midst of chaos, when choices, control, health, are taken out of his hands, the stimulants he forces down his throat will provide the energy he needs to carry him through.

Red rimmed, waterlogged eyes blink back at Sasha in the glass. He tilts his head, traces the healing scar that bisects his jaw. Are they what has bought him here? The car crash and the limitations it's placed on his torn up body? He brings his arm up, studies the cast that creeps out from under his jacket sleeve, and breathes low and long. Sometimes there is emptiness in the aftermath, sometimes answers.

The ghost of Payson's fingers brush his cheek. It takes him a long time to meet his own eyes again in the mirror.

* * *

The second floor balcony wraps two sides of the hotel; Payson has walked it four times in the ten minutes she's been out here trying to get her panic under control. Rio's hillsides loom large behind the hotel, stretching for miles left and right. Counting the tiny boxes of the favelas fails to distract, so Payson glances to the ocean instead, tucking hair behind her ears as another gust sends a tattered ringlet flying. A fire stream is cutting under the burgeoning cloud, a slither of burning sunset above the sea.

Is this what it is to love someone? Blindly pulling back the layers of a person's character, not realising glacial spikes lie underneath until they pierce you too? Is that love?

Payson struggles to swallow as she steps to the edge of the balcony and grips the waist high railing; calluses rub the metal bar she rings like a dishcloth. The deserted balcony sits above the street and people still scurry round the hotel entrance; Payson could spit on their heads if she had the inclination. She leans out a little further, blonde hair spilling over the side as she steps up onto the bottom railing.

The sunset flames die, leaving a grey swarm-cloud and a black ocean. Payson's heart gives an extra thud. There's a storm gathering out there above the water.

"Payson!"

Her hollered name is punctuated by a volley of flashes from the sidewalk. Payson drops from the railing, snaps her body back into the sheltered shadow of the balcony. Below, a cluster of lenses risk vehicular death as they spill out into the road, trying to get a clear photograph of the world-class gymnast.

The air is too thick for a deep breath, too clogged with salt and fumes and the smothering heat that has not abated despite dusk deepening into dark. Payson blinks hard as her head lolls back against the hotel wall, a dark slit of building marked only by a fire escape door. She's scrambling for order, for coherence, yet, with every blink, a solid plan flits further from her panicking grasp.

In her sweaty palm, her clutch bag vibrates. The cell shakes as she clicks connect.

"Hello?"

"Just checking you're not redefining the word 'subtle', Keeler." Kelly's voice bursts through the phone, full of energy and adrenaline. "Just because I'm not there to stick the ice sculpture down your back and cool you off, do not go getting ideas about grinding with your boy on the dance floor to old-school Madonna."

"Old-school Madonna?" Payson just about manages to choke out through a throat achingly tight with the tears she's struggling not to shed.

"You better not be mocking the era of the cone bra."

"I wasn't..."

"What's wrong?" Kelly is suddenly sharp, alert, and too damn perceptive for Payson to lie to right now. Not that an attempt isn't worth the effort.

"What makes you think something's wrong?" Payson says, eyes closed, question almost lost in a volley of car horns a few intersections away.

"You sniffed. Twice." Kelly responds immediately, her tone frowning. "Don't bullshit me Keeler, if I find out someone's made you cry and I didn't get the opportunity to punch that someone in the junk I will be epic-scale pissed."

Flash residue still creeps up from the street but the shouts of the frenzied press pack are losing ground to the wind. There's howling as Payson looks up. Looming thirty stories above her, the hotel roof provides a focal point for the rapidly swirling gusts. "He's just so broken," she whispers.

There's a pause on the line. "Sasha?" Kelly draws out the name. She's quiet, her usual shrill frustration that the world refuses to knuckle under to her will deliberately absent.

Water sneaks over Payson's eyelashes. She lets the tears carve rivets in her makeup and drop to the concrete. "I didn't even...how could I not..."

"Complete sentences, Keller. Give me verbs."

Tasting salt, Payson sucks in a broken breath. "I don't know what to do."

The ultimate admittance of helplessness; Payson hates the words even as they fall from her mouth. She sags against the wall, hand so tight round the phone the case squeaks. Before her, kraken-sized islands rear out of the bay, black boulders in an oil-slick ocean. The menacing panorama catches her senses. Kelly has to yell to regain her attention.

"Parker?" she ventures.

"Yes, I'm still here. Unlike some, I don't go MIA in the middle of a conversation." Worry outweighs annoyance. "Now, for the third time, where are you?"

"I'm on the roof."

"Oh, well that makes me feel so much better," Kelly barks.

"Technically, it's a balcony." Payson says, blankly.

" _Technically_ , my ass. Don't you dare go all Suicide-Susie on me, Keeler. I want to borrow that dress you're wearing and blood spatter does not a bitchin' outfit make."

"Did you just say bitchin'?" There's a tug at the corner of Payson's mouth.

"Did it make you smile?"

Payson's bites her lip, even as she sniffs and stoppers more tears with the heel of her hand. "Maybe a little."

"Then yes," Kelly announces, "I said bitchin'."

A rooftop in downtown Rio is far from peaceful, yet the moment somehow is. Payson picks at the hem of her dress, lets the soft fabric flow through her fingers and dance in the breeze.

"Look, Keeler," Kelly starts, the empathetic sigh sounding strange on her. "I don't know what's happened, and Marty'll be back from his coffee-slash-flirt-with-the-barista run in a minute, so..."

There is the faintest dip in temperature in the air pirouetting through Payson's curls. She holds out her palm, waiting for the first rain drop.

"...so I'll just say this one thing." Kelly continues as if she hadn't broken off in the middle of a sentence, as if the emotional bond she feels with Payson hadn't momentarily rendered her chest too tight to speak. "You are Payson Keeler and this is the World Championship no one thought you had a hope in hell of competing in. For tonight, is there really anything else you need to know?"

The night air shimmers for a second, a tremulous rumble Payson would have missed if her skin hadn't just started to tingle.

"No," Payson says, swallowing hard, bringing into focus the memories of her back brace, of the endless round of doctors claiming she was done, of a crumpled fender and shattered windshield. "There's nothing else I need to know."

"Good," Kelly says, firmly. "Then consider this talk thoroughly pepped."

Payson looks out at the city under her feet, breathes hard, then turns, following the winding path through the decorative shrubs back toward the main building.

"Thank you," she murmurs, phone still to her ear.

"And now you're using the sappy voice so, excuse me, but I have to go vomit." The line falls dead.

The smile that slips over Payson's face is warm. She tries to hold onto its strength as she puts the cell back in her clutch and re-enters the hotel.

The ballroom cuts a three-story section through the building. Open walkways edge the upper floors like lighting platforms at a music hall. Motown classics pump through speakers usually condemned to spreading witheringly bland muzak, whilst the drone of a few hundred partygoers floods up from the floor below.

Pacing quickly along the eastern balcony, Payson keeps her head down, wall of hair obscuring her too recognisable face. The nearest bathroom is mercifully close and, much to Payson's relief, mercifully empty as she pushes through the door and checks the two stalls.

As with the rest of the hotel, greenery sprouts from free-standing pots and in-wall niches, lending the tiny room a tropical feel Payson doesn't have the energy to appreciate. She grips the edge of the wash basin - wishing it was a fiberglass bar and she was at the training hall - and leans her weight into the unit. She counts to ten, bites her tongue, counts to ten again.

Teeth grit as Payson meets her reflection in the wall-length mirror. As expected, tear-laden mascara has scraped junkie track-marks down her cheeks and her skin is slicked with sweat. She doubts the middle-of-a-breakdown look will go over well with potential sponsors. Though, she thinks with hard sarcasm, the press would probably simultaneously orgasm from behind their camera lenses.

Ripping paper towels from the dispenser, Payson scrubs hard at her face, wetting the tissue when the smudged eyeliner proves stubborn. It's too easy a jump to imagine the lines on her cheeks are red, to remember the scars on Sasha's face, his healing skin, his stitches scratching her fingerprints as she'd learned the new contours of his torn skull back in her bedroom in Boulder.

Payson stares into her own green eyes as she wonders. There was scotch on Sasha's breath the night Emily and Kaylie quit, the night they stood under a Colorado storm, same as there has been the five nights they've been in Rio. The labels on the pill bottles she's seen on his nightstand come from different pharmacies.

Is alcohol always his coping mechanism, his last resort? Are pills? Or is it all residue of the life he lived under the moniker 'Rebel', a life she knows next to nothing about.

The slam of palm on marble reverberates off the tiled walls. Payson breathes hard, eyes closed, concentrates on the sting in her hand where it rests on the basin. She has no time for suppositions to overwhelm her, to ask questions she can't answer.

The beeping phone is welcome distraction, at least until she sees who it's from. MJ wants to know where Payson is. It's not an unreasonable request from an agent, it's even mild in tone - with limited use of 'bloody hell' - a fair achievement considering Payson walked into the party half an hour ago and promptly vanished. Still, Payson feels resentment start to bubble. MJ knows. She wasn't just Sasha's confidant all those years back, she was witness. While Payson is left to hypothesise and drag a timeline together from snippets of rumour, MJ knows all the details of Sasha's history. Staring at the glowing cell screen, territorial jealousy stabs and pinches.

"Tweeting?"

 _God damn hote_ l, Payson curses as her heart lurches, _so damn rich the doors don't squeak._

"No." Payson finally manages to breathe, glancing over her shoulder to see Ivanka Kirilenko sidling across the floor, lithe body encased in a tight black slip dress and knee high boots. Her militarily sharp-edged bangs look even more severe with the rest of her hair scraped back into a French twist. "I don't have a twitter account," Payson qualifies, inwardly praying the Russian hasn't been standing there long.

"I know," Ivanka smiles indulgently as she lifts herself up and back to perch on the diaper changing unit beside the sinks. "Makes it much harder to spy on you."

"Ri-ght," Payson says slowly, frowning slightly.

Ivanka appears to be in no hurry to use one of the stalls. Legs crossed, leaning back into her palms, she lazily bounces one booted toe whilst observing Payson.

"Did you want something?" Payson asks, warily but without rudeness. She's a little surprised at her passivity considering the last time she interacted with Ivanka, the Russian had informed the entire US team they were 'fucked'.

With all the urgency of a sun-basking cat, Ivanka retrieves a phone from the inside of her left boot, one thumb tapping the screen repeatedly before offering it to Payson. "Rest of team not so private," she announces, something akin to empathy in her expression.

Taking the phone, Payson feels Ivanka's attention remain as she reads the tweet cued up on the screen.

 _ **LoTanUSA says:**_ _Guess u dont always hav alcoholic 2 get in2 AA ;)_

Payson's not sure how, but her body both freezes and boils at the same time. Three read-throughs and the pixelated characters are fixed and memorised, though their meaning was obvious first time. The timestamp proclaims the tweet was posted twenty minutes ago.

"Why are you showing me this?" Payson murmurs, suddenly aware of the slight echo of her voice as it slides off a dozen slick surfaces.

Deceptively delicate long fingers pluck the phone from Payson's grasp and return it to its boot pocket.

"You do not have twitter. I do favour." Ivanka has the disconcerting ability to maintain her air of scornful apathy to the problems of others, even as she tracks every expression, reads every stray movement, lets nothing pass by without note.

Payson imagines herself on the vault mat braced to run; it's the only way she can get her heart rate to quieten. How could Lauren do this? "Why would you do me a favour?" she asks instead.

Ivanka rolls her neck at its stem, sighing as the vertebrae click and shift. Bone structure assured, she swivels her eyes to look down at Payson from the lofty perch she sits on like a throne. "You are still in AA? Tanner replace Parker, not you?"

Payson frowns. "You want to know what tactics to change?"

Ivanka's face crumples in dismissal. "Tactics are coach's job."

"Then why..."

Close up, the speed of Ivanka's movement is something Payson can only admire, even as she's taking a step back, even as Ivanka's suddenly standing in front of her, natural height advantage and high heels meaning the Russian dominates the impromptu stare down. "Are. You still. In all around?"

Fire; all Payson can think of is fire. Staring up at Ivanka, she wonders if this is what others see in herself, the devouring fire of single-minded purpose. "Why do you care?"

"Because I want to beat the best. You qualify top so you are best."

Freezing pride skewers up Payson's spine, blazes through her skin.

"Then I'm sorry," she replies with deliberate slowness.

"You are out?" Ivanka accuses.

Payson's face breaks into a half smirk of bravado. "Guess you'll just have to wait and see."

Ivanka's crisp green eyes burnish with focused glee, enthusiasm of a soldier who has met a worthy foe.

The face-off lingers another few seconds, then, as sharp as she does everything else, Ivanka snaps a hand into her boot, retracts an object she places on the sink unit, then turns and saunters to the exit, calling back over her shoulder, "is waterproof." The well-oiled door falls shut silently behind her.

Payson keeps her position, body turned to the door, but twists her head to look down at the object Ivanka left. A bubble of laughter catches in her throat. She reaches out, lets the laughter free in a long breath, as she picks up the eyeliner pencil, Russian lettering on the side shortened where the pencil has been sharpened down to a two inch stub.

"Vaterproof," Payson repeats to the room, deliberate Russian accent the stuff of a James Bond villain.

Staring into the mirror, Sasha's echoed words "be in the moment" conjuring heart without pain, Payson feels something awaken inside.

Five minutes later, eyes defined, hair pulled back into a soft ponytail, Payson does one last check to ensure no signs of distress are left on her face. A deep breath and she's out the door, marching down the walkway, head high this time, hips alive with enough swagger to ensure it is others who scuttle from her path.

It goes against every instinct to be this conspicuous, but Payson hears Kelly, hears MJ, hears Ivanka, the mental reference points of everything she thinks is good in this sport, telling her it's time to stamp her claim on this World Championship. Starting now.

A wide staircase sits at the south end of the ballroom, sweeping down from the second story with stone carved grandeur. Payson pauses deliberately at the centre of the top step. She gives a one-eighty sweep of the room, sensing the attention that comes to rest on her but showing no acknowledgment. A swarm of suits and dresses fill the ballroom floor and Payson continues to search the crowd as she descends the steps, keeping to the centre of the stairs, dominating the space.

Payson's glad Kim decided to stay at the hotel to keep Kelly company; she's not sure she could play this part under the too knowing attention of her mother.

Purple fabric ghosting over her thighs, Payson gracefully transitions from bottom stair to the floor without needing to hesitate.

The dance area is at the other end of the room, three shallow, wide steps around the circumference of a large circle sunk two feet into the floor. White dress etched with sequins, poker straight blonde hair flying free, Lauren is holding court at the edge nearest the DJ, Max on her arm, Hayley at her side, regaling a group of about twenty with a Rock story Payson pegs as highly embellished after only hearing two sentences.

Rather than shove her way through and punch Lauren in the face – though, God, is she tempted – Payson waits at the edge of the entourage for Lauren to notice her. Unsurprisingly, it's Hayley who spots Payson first and waves, smiling broadly. Payson waves back and makes a mental note to check Hayley's got the longed for Facebook photo before the night is out. That done she returns her attention to Lauren, who has finally clocked her appearance and is now aiming a shark-sneer in her direction.

"So the rumours are true, Payson Keeler _is_ here tonight." Lauren's volume is for the benefit of her audience, and her own vanity. Sure enough, most laugh at the tease, though the laughter turns slightly awkward when she continues, "totally professional to disappear at the start of the party when everyone wants to talk to you, btw, kudos on that."

"I agree," Payson admits, faking an apologetic smile, soothing the embarrassment of the group by nodding at a few of them and shrugging in a sheepish 'my bad' attitude. "But I had some business to deal with," she continues, switching from contrite to cryptic.

Lauren's face has tinged distinctly sallow when Payson looks at her again, annoyance that her attendants are showing signs of finding Payson more interesting.

"Business?" Lauren says, consonants bitten. She tightens her arm around Max's elbow. The male gymnast is looking anywhere but Payson. Whether it's because he's finally discovered a sense of shame for flirting with her when supposedly on dates with Lauren or because he actually remembers the parameters of the honor code, Payson has no desire to discover.

"Business," Payson repeats, "and talking of business, I need to borrow you for a minute." Payson gestures vaguely over her shoulder, so kindly inviting that Lauren has no choice but to abandon the cluster of bodies she's spent the past half an hour gathering round her or risk confirming the rumours that there's tension within team USA.

"Great," Lauren flashes clenched teeth at Payson in the parody of a smile. "I'll be right back," she announces to anyone listening. Payson notes, with satisfaction she admits to be juvenile, that the surrounding group has already transferred to animatedly pitching suggestions for Hayley's Facebook photo.

The moment Lauren is within reach, Payson tugs her away by the elbow.

"Er, ow?" Lauren complains, as Payson weaves them through pockets of chattering nationalities

When they reach a relatively private area by one of the glass doors that lead to the lower patios, Lauren rips from Payson's grasp and folds her arms with theatrical annoyance.

Payson, however, frosty as one of the ridiculous ice sculptures melting all over the buffet, gets in the first remark. "You don't have to be an alcoholic to get into AA?"

The briefest hint of remorse crosses Lauren's eyes, but then her chin is tipping upwards, and her defiance wipes it all away.

"You know damn well that information was embargoed until Sasha's statement on finals day, so don't even start with the excuses. Marcus and Sasha made it clear no one was to know Kelly's been benched because of injury."

"Did I mention anything about Kelly?" Lauren shoots back. "No. Did I mention anything about an injury? No, again."

"No, you just told everyone you were in the all around. I'm here, Kelly's not, makes it pretty obvious which one of us you're replacing, don't you think? People are watching our every move, Lauren, that includes our tweets. Which, _btw_ , you were told to quit posting during competition."

"You know," Lauren says, slow sneer preventing the prickly conversation descending rapidly into a loud fight. "It would be a hell of a lot faster if you'd just admit why you're really pissed about that tweet."

Payson raises one eyebrow. "Enlighten me."

"You're jealous that I'm the one getting all the attention. That suddenly Payson Keeler isn't the star attraction on the USA parade," Lauren hisses, voice wet with petulance.

Payson huffs a smile as she briefly looks to the heavens. "You really don't get it do you? You think this about me? You think..."

"Of course it's about you," Lauren interrupts, stepping closer, jabbing the air in front of Payson's chest with an accusative finger. "Everything's always been about you, ever since you showed up at the Rock. Or..."

A sudden pause as a new theory dawns, fresh cruelty creeping into a smile that once had the potential to be warm and protective.

"Or are you mad I ignored Sasha's instructions?" Lauren hisses with piteous delight. "Are we really back to you being all dreamy over a coach who everyone's saying chucked his guts up like five minutes after we arrived?"

"This is not about Sasha." Payson keeps her eyes flint-cold whilst Lauren's sparkle.

"I really hope not, Pay, 'cause it's gonna suck to be all moon-eyed over a coach who isn't actually a coach anymore."

"What?" Payson bites, quickly sucking down any betrayal of panic. There's no way Lauren could know about Sasha's plans to quit after Worlds.

"Let's just say," Lauren leans in closer, "it might be a good idea if you started being nicer to Darby."

Payson's insides relax a fraction. Steve's been threatening Sasha's job for the past few days; he must be the source of Lauren's information. Though Darby as replacement is probably Lauren's wishful thinking.

"Rock politics will be dealt with after Worlds, don't try and change the subject," Payson says. "Do you know what that tweet has done?"

"Enlighten me," Lauren shoots back, mockery in her repetition of Payson's words.

"Kelly out of the all around confirms the rumours about her ankle injury, which means Russia and China now know she's unlikely to be fit to compete more than one apparatus in the team final, and if she is put up for more, it'll be a coin flip whether she can hit or not."

Lauren rolls her eyes. Payson steps closer and drops her volume.

"All the momentum we gathered from qualifying first and proving we were capable of winning without Drea has been lost because now everyone's going to be like 'well, there's no way they can repeat that performance without Drea _and_ Kelly.' Do you not realise how big a confidence boost that is going to be for the other teams?"

"Do not talk to me like I'm an idiot." Lauren is trying to maintain her indignant fury, but she's blinking hard, beginnings of panic leaking through with realisation.

It's hard to refrain from the obvious comeback but Payson bites down the words, rocks back a little on her heels instead, swivelling her neck, trying to water down the frustration of missed opportunity.

"God, Lo," she sighs.

Breathing hard, Lauren is studying the floor as though she might just discover a 'retract' button to remove all evidence of the tweet that not half an hour ago felt like the best joke ever.

"I didn't think..."

The sentence remains unfinished, and Payson lets the truth of its fragment go without comment.

Lights dim above them as the south section of the ballroom is given over entirely to the dance floor, music flowing loud over the pitched hum of a hundred conversations. Standing as close as the friends both at one point thought they could be, Payson and Lauren are buffeted by a giggling group of younger gymnasts rushing past, eager to claim prime dance real estate. This time, Lauren makes no comment as Payson touches her elbow to steady her.

"That was all concisely put, Miss Keeler."

Payson whirls round as a large hand taps her upper arm. Marcus Collins, suited and shined to Oscar night glamour, holds his hands up in brief apology.

"But," the NGO rep continues, his seeming neutrality betrayed by the hard set of his mouth, "I would like a personal word with Miss Tanner, if you would excuse us?"

There's more politeness – and respect - in the borderline order than Payson is used to receiving from any person related to the NGO, and her nod is cautious. Marcus inclines his head in return, then moves his attention back to Lauren.

"Miss Tanner?" The contrast in Marcus' tone is notably sharp, and Lauren visibly prickles at not being granted the same regard as Payson, though she has sense enough not to say anything.

Beside Marcus, Steve Tanner runs a palm over his chin, and answers for his daughter. "Let's go, Lauren." He steps forward, firm hand on Lauren's lower back steering her in the direction of the ballroom exit, following in the wake of an already striding Marcus.

Complete anonymity in this particular crowd is a state Payson knows she cannot achieve, so she settles for an alternative, moving to the ten foot high glass doors at the side of the ballroom and turning her face to the dark outside. No one is close enough to make out the details of her reflection as she takes a moment to breathe and think.

Fingers brush her wrist with the lightest touch. She would have turned, irate at once again being surprised, if the fingers had not stayed and encircled her palm.

The storm is closer now Payson notes as, pulse tensing, she raises her eyes to the dark patch of glass just above her head. Shadows of wind-ragged palm branches ghost across Sasha's pale reflection.


	42. Chapter 42

**CHAPTER FORTY TWO**

No one knocks against MJ or even comes close to making contact. A notable achievement considering she stands deep amidst swirling packs of revellers, a static obstacle in a spinning ballroom. She doesn't even require the sharp point of her elbows to ensure floor space; the arch of her eyebrow is sharp enough to warn even the most hyped guest that this is not a woman to jolt or nudge.

"Quite the tableau," she observes, to no one in particular, her words bent with consideration as she watches shadowed reflections stare at one another in the window panes of the south door.

The purple skirt of Payson's dress ripples gently as the girl turns from the glass. Sasha, sleeves of his black shirt folded up to his elbows, unconsciously dips his head closer to her. A beautiful couple by any standards. MJ tilts her head; beauty is a useful commodity; it's something to bear in my mind.

She allows them a minute before she intervenes. It's not that she expects a scene to erupt, but sometimes honest glances can be just as loud as shouted accusations, and MJ does not want to risk this particular story breaking tonight.

Crowds are easy to manipulate if you possess the array of facial expressions MJ has perfected over her career, and space is made as she glides across the room, shimmering dress - or perhaps the body underneath - attracting the attention of a number of male gymnasts she would enjoy toying with, if there were but time.

Had MJ approached them flanked by a klaxon chorus of buglers, she doubts either Payson or Sasha would have noticed.

"Seek and ye shall find," she says when close enough to touch Payson's arm and stop the girl rearing back in surprise.

"MJ." Payson blinks at a quicker rate than normal but that is the only giveaway that she is flustered by MJ's appearance _. She's learning_ , MJ notes, not without a degree of satisfaction.

"Payson."

MJ edges between the couple.

"Sasha."

Stiletto heels make MJ the equal of Sasha's height.

"Now, I enjoy watching a romantic interlude as much as the next person." She smiles, waiting briefly for the DJ, voice blown wide and distorted by the sound system, to finish announcing the next track before continuing. "Just not when I haven't prepped the couple or hand-picked the audience."

Sasha, a creature of habits not all bad, turns his light smirk to the floor and shoves his hands in his trouser pockets. It's a tic MJ's always associated with school boys and one she doesn't find entirely unpleasant.

"Something to say, Coach Belov?" she asks, innocent mask hiding the smile underneath.

"Did you hear about Lauren?" Payson cuts in, perhaps not understanding the dynamic between the two adults. Or perhaps, MJ reconsiders - watching the sharp pinch of Payson's posture, the set of the girl's eyes - she understands it too well. Jealousy is not an emotion she suspects Payson enjoys feeling.

"Ah, Twitter," MJ turns her attention fully to Payson, takes a step away from Sasha. Silent ceding of territory can often be more effective than verbal reassurance. "Where the hashtag 'excuse me, you're stupidity is showing' should trend 24/7."

A crack of amusement runs across Payson's face like fracturing glass. The girl glances over MJ's shoulder. MJ can predict with some confidence that Sasha's face will be cut with the same half-smile. A pang of affection hits MJ somewhere in the chest cavity. It gives her momentary pause; she's not used to actually caring about her clients.

"But enough about Miss Tanner," MJ blusters through the intruding emotion, recapturing Payson's attention. "Can I assume that whatever task it was that had you vanishing for," she checks her watch, "just shy of an hour has been fulfilled?"

Payson glances at her feet, tucks a strand of her long bangs behind an ear. MJ will take those signs of teenage contriteness as apology enough.

"Excellent," she announces, "because Grrrl Bar's representative is in the Nautical Bar abusing - if the glass tally is anything to go by - her company's black AmEx card. Always a good time to negotiate a bonus I find."

Again, Payson throws a look over MJ's shoulder. _God_ , MJ thinks, _how any of the people in this room are licensed to drive if they're blind enough to miss the white-fire love in Payson's eyes every time she looks at Sasha is a mystery._

"But I need to talk to him for a moment first," MJ says, inclining her head behind her.

Sasha has remained at her back and MJ will put money that when Payson looks up at him, his eyes burn just as fierce as hers.

It's slight, but Payson bristles. A long time gone, the mere hint of anger being displayed in her direction would have caused MJ's hackles to spring sharp and fast, but such reactions were left along with the batwing jumpers and blue eye-shadow she discarded as a teenager.

"Busy room, busy night, Payson." Calm tone and a reassuring palm to the upper arm, enough pressure to encourage movement, not enough to force. "Let me help."

Payson stays still. Again her attention is sent behind MJ, but the girl isn't seeking permission from Sasha, or even advice. MJ recognises the protective glint Payson wears, the worry of leaving what she values most to someone that she doesn't – yet – entirely trust.

"It's ok," MJ railroads over the tension with a happy-go-lucky smile, "we won't be a moment. You just stand over there looking world champion-y and I'll be right with you."

Agreement is not instant. Rather than being annoyed, MJ approves. Something has shifted in Payson tonight.

"World champion-y?" Payson says finally, fixing MJ with a raised eyebrow brushed with just enough mocking to provoke a chuckle from Sasha.

"Common vernacular," MJ retorts, mouth quirked. The girl's willing to spar; MJ likes her more and more.

Another look to Sasha, another silent warning to MJ, and Payson withdraws, gracefully swiping a champagne flute of orange juice from a passing waiter's tray as she takes up position ten feet away, watching the dancers, betraying no sign she has even noticed the attention she is getting from the other wallflowers standing near.

 _Definitely world champion-y_ , MJ thinks, allows a second to muse upon what the future could hold if they all play this right, then turns away. Sasha has already moved further back into the shadows thrown by the narrow walkways a floor above, out of Payson's earshot, out of most people's eyeline. MJ joins him, almost nostalgic; she trained the boy well.

"Are you going to moan at me for losing the jacket?" Sasha opens the exchange, his casted arm gesturing at his uncovered black shirt. He hadn't worn a tie to begin with, so his collar is already open.

"No, no, dishevelled GQ works for you," MJ says, straightening the turn ups of his sleeves with matronly precision. "Though," she continues, "heaving into a toilet five minutes after arriving is not."

Sasha watches her, tired smile accented with something MJ would hazard a guess was – strangely - relief. "Just like old times," he murmurs.

"Indeed." Bitter humour; not many survive to this age in the industry without cultivating an appreciation. After a long pause, MJ pats his collar. "I've put it around that you have a stomach bug."

"Planning to have me infect the whole team with it, too?"

She did train this boy well.

"After Miss Tanner's little bout of published stupidity, all that's left is to drag expectations below the sewage level. Then, as long as the girls don't trip over their own feet walking into the arena, it will be considered victory." She shrugs, swallowing down the automatic shiver as she looks up at Sasha's face and sees the damage left by the broken car window.

"We might be able to pull back some momentum in the early events. If everyone thinks the team's been praying to the big white telephone all night, then even Tanner's mediocre performances will seem like triumphs."

"Good theory."

It's hard to tell in this light without asking, even though MJ has more experience than she'd like appraising Sasha's sobriety. "So, and remember I'm an expert at spotting liars, are you ok?"

Sasha shuffles a little, taps at his chest. "I think I threw up a rib." A half smile.

"Charming image." A half smile back.

They've danced this melody before, competing for who can be the most blasé about a subject that is anything but. Years have passed though, and MJ sees a difference in their game now, a difference in the pale boy whose eyes are suddenly serious.

"I need to tell her."

And there it is. MJ brushes the back of her index finger along Sasha's chin and if her smile appears sad, well, losing was never her strong suit, even if it's a prize she relinquished a long time ago.

"Yes, you do," she agrees, a touch softer than usual, following Sasha's eyeline. Payson sways to the music as she studies her cell, unaware of the scrutiny being served upon her. "But," MJ coughs her voice back into normality, "as they say, timing is everything, and now is not the time. So go, drink water, spend time with your remaining ribs, while I get started on my plan for Payson Keeler to conquer the gymnastics world."

When Sasha's attention comes to rest on her again, MJ doubts he's heard a word she's said.

"Is she ok?" Such care in his words, such concern; MJ feels an instant of big sisterly pride, which, she freely admits, is somewhat disturbing considering their history.

"She's far more professional than you." MJ smirks, nudges Sasha's good arm with her elbow.

Sasha rolls his eyes with self-deprecation. "Well, who isn't."

"Exactly."

There's a comfortable pause which MJ uses to consider. The important moments in life usually come unexpectedly. She takes a breath.

"You need to tell her everything, Sasha. The girl deserves that."

"She's talked to you?" Sasha's new scars crumple around his guess.

"I gave her no specifics. That's your purview."

Tipping back on his heels, hands returning to pockets, Sasha casts his eyes round the ballroom. "Not as posh as Strasbourg." His comment is deceptively detached.

A city's name should not have so much power. Although, considering the shared memories that flow unspoken between MJ and her boy right now, it's perhaps forgivable.

"History doesn't have to repeat itself," she says.

"Doesn't it?"

"Change a variable, change the outcome." MJ looks again at Payson. Personal failure is not easy for her to admit. A decade ago, a city thousands of miles away, MJ was that role in Sasha's life. "She's not as blind as I was."

Music and chatter swell air suddenly thick enough to choke on. Sasha's hand is gentle on her wrist.

"It's a long time gone, MJ, and I've never blamed you."

The strobe lights slow to a continuous glow as a ballad starts to lilt. Turns out forgiveness is far simpler than MJ ever predicted.

"Well." She coughs, horrified when something resembling a sniffle emanates from a nose that should know better.

"Well." Sasha lets his hand fall gently, then deliberately turns to study the rest of the room, allows MJ the privacy to restructure her shields.

The thought is appreciated, though its necessity despised, and MJ gathers herself as quickly as she can, bullying her well trained emotional control back online.

"I'm assuming," she says after a moment, her posture straightened, her tone returning to its usual professional timbre, "that you realise what the NGO are likely do after tonight."

It's a familiar look Sasha levels down at her, but not one she ever knows if she reads quite right.

"Like they weren't going to do it anyway," he says, bitterness much lower than MJ expected. "Cup of tea tomorrow morning?" he says, ending MJ's questioning.

"As long as you haven't gone entirely Yankee doodle and intend to throw it in the harbour." She issues the withering caveat with a smile.

"Blasphemy." Sasha's feigned outrage on behalf of their country's most beloved import is enough to confirm normal service between them has been resumed.

"Quite," MJ bestows a wink, then lightly slaps Sasha's good cheek in lieu of goodbye, and struts away.

"I feel like an idiot," Payson mumbles out the corner of her mouth as MJ comes to a stop beside her.

"Well, you look like a champion," MJ reassures, copying Payson and checking her own phone. "Very 'don't fuck with me, I'm busy forming a mental plan of all the ways I'm going to crush Ivanka Kirilenko'."

"I was playing Angry Birds."

MJ pauses in the middle of the email she's reading and gives Payson a look. "Never tell anyone that."

Payson nods.

"Now," MJ elongates the word until she finishes the email. "Let's go grease some palms."

Payson falls into step beside her agent as MJ whisks them both toward the Nautical Bar. The girl doesn't look back for Sasha, and MJ has to admire how much strength it must take the teenager to resist that urge.

"When are we meeting Calvin Klein?" Payson asks as a group of Italian gymnasts side-step out of her path.

"Tomorrow afternoon." MJ keeps her gaze up and out as they move through the ballroom. She needs to re-establish location of tonight's key players and fast; Sasha always was the only thing that could distract her on nights like this.

"Not tonight?" Payson raises her voice a little as they clear the dance area and start passing tightly-packed groups of chatting guests. "Is that bad?"

"It's good." MJ assures, discreetly moving to Payson's other side, creating a shield from the pair of journalists she clocks approaching from the staircase. "Face to face sit down rather than a party drive-by. Means they're interested."

Payson nods, processing the information.

The Nautical Bar has a narrow doorway and MJ pauses before she enters.

"Are you ok?"

It takes time for an agent to develop a rapport with their client; MJ predicts the period it takes her and Payson will be considerably shorter than usual because the girl doesn't even look at across at MJ, simply says "yes," firmly and curtly before she marches through the doorway, head high.

"Yes, indeed," MJ observes, to no one in particular, and follows after her client.

* * *

Releasing a long breath, Sasha leans against the wall, hands in his pockets, weight rocked back into his heels. He watches Payson and MJ fade amongst the crowd; his past and his future. He lets the irony sink in, allows the ripple of affection to wash across his face, then turns his attention inwards to do a physical inventory.

His sight is too sharp, brittle outlines razor-wire clear, whilst his other senses are shot. Chemical sediment lies heavy in his blood and experience tells him will it linger for days. Yet, he wants more of what's done this to him, wants to line his veins with a barrier to the pain and fatigue that are starting to spike again, wants to pour poison into his mouth to get him through tonight, tomorrow, the indefinite future. He glances to the ceiling, sends his sigh towards the carved balustrades, and steels his resistance.

Another hotel, another reckoning. Even before he'd said it aloud to MJ, Sasha was thinking of Strasbourg. A decade on and his demons are still nipping at his heels.

He clenches his teeth, his fists, his will; this time, in this hotel, the outcome will be different. He's not sure of the how, but the why is sitting in the Nautical Bar right now, and Sasha will be damned if he drags Payson down the road he paved when he was the angry, broken teenager he's tried so long to forget.

Stillness is the breeding ground for temptation; Sasha needs to move. He pushes away from the wall and into the crowd. Looks are thrown in his direction, accompanied by gossip singing a pitch above the bass thumping music. He pays them no heed, restrains himself from returning the glares with snarling antipathy as he would have once done. However short his tenure as USA coach has been cut, he is still their representative, and though a stomach bug may explain emptying his guts into the nearest toilet, he doubts it will be a viable excuse for starting a fight in the middle of the party.

The ballroom is built on a symmetrical design, separate bars hidden in the recesses under either side of the staircase. The Nautical Bar sits on the left; Sasha heads to the Bar Imperial on the right.

The door swinging shut behind him immediately cuts away the jabber and music of the party. It's a cosy, low ceilinged room, internal windows frosted to obscure the passersby in the corridors beyond. The few patrons that there are have commandeered the private booths. The L-shaped bar appears empty, until Sasha's eyes find a splash of colour lighting up the far corner. Relief momentarily stills the churning in his stomach; this is perhaps the only person whose company will be a blessing rather than a chore.

Legs nowhere to be seen, layers of brightly coloured tulle tucked under and fluffed up around her, Beth looks as if she is hovering atop the bar stool. Her rainbow shoes have been shrugged off. One balances on the stool's cross bar, the other sits upside down on the floor. All Beth's attention is trained on the intricate house of cards she's constructed from beer mats on the counter top.

"You'll be able to throw your own party in that soon." Sasha drops onto the stool next to her and gestures at the impressively large structure.

A serene smile is his answer. Beth's eyes haven't moved from the mats, yet she shows no surprise at Sasha's appearance.

"At least we can make it a real party," she says, frowning as she balances the foundations of the sixth storey.

"This party isn't real?" Sasha picks at a communal bowl of peanuts, props an elbow on the bar and asks the bartender for a large glass of iced water, though the urge for Johnny Walker Blue with a Red Bull and vicodin chaser is almost overwhelming.

"The party's real, the people aren't," Beth says, serious enough that Sasha thinks she's about to launch into a discussion about existentialism.

"The people aren't real?" Sasha flicks a peanut into his mouth as if it's a pill. Maybe she _is_ launching into a discussion about existentialism; anything's possible with Beth.

The arrival of Sasha's water sends a jolt through the counter-top. The bartender shoots Beth a wince of apology.

"Everyone's being all network-y and look-at-me-y," she says, when she's reassured her beer-mat house isn't about to collapse.

"No one's being themselves?"

Beth nods confirmation.

"Am I being myself?" Sasha frowns, the glass of water pausing halfway to his mouth, not sure where this conversation has come from.

For the first time, Beth looks at him, unabashedly examining, head at a tilt as she always holds it when she's thinking, squinting unnervingly long when she reaches his eyes. "You are now," she finally answers.

Sasha can only hold her gaze for a few seconds. He takes a gulp of water instead, studies the coloured bottles lined up carefully along the back of the bar. When his father was drunk, his eyes clouded with a wet haze only recognisable to those who bothered to look close enough. Sasha never realised it was an inherited trait.

"You've undressed your face," Beth adds, after a pause too long.

Sasha glances back at her. Beth taps her cheek and he understands.

"The bandage fell victim to a violent water faucet."

"Poor bandage." Beth shrugs impassively, returns to her card house and pushes a stack of mats towards Sasha in invitation.

"A house always needs a garage," he agrees, taking up two Corona mats to begin the addition.

This is how it is with Beth sometimes, the spoken words far less important than the conversation beneath them.

They work quietly, the project welcome distraction from the outside clamour pushing against the thin walls. When the bartender refills Sasha's pint of water, the most garish drink Sasha has ever seen is placed in front of Beth. She doesn't bother glancing up, merely cranes her neck forward, searching the air with open mouth until she locates the angled straw.

"What the hell is that?" Sasha studies the drink with raised eyebrows, wondering if he should be swiping it with a Geiger counter.

Electric blue liquid fills two thirds of the long, slim glass, the rest topped by an inch of neon yellow. Flamingo pink sugar crusts the rim, so thick it almost obscures the two cherries floating on the surface. Two scarlet plastic monkeys hang by their tails over the edge, competing for space with a green and orange flowery paper umbrella, a purple swizzle stick, and the rainbow striped straw Beth is absentmindedly chewing.

"Huh?" She mumbles round the teeth-marked plastic, turning a glance at Sasha and nearly skewering her eye with a plastic monkey in the process.

"What are you drinking?" Sasha repeats, lifting the monkey and its mate away before Beth gets them lodged up her nose.

Beth releases the straw and smiles at Sasha, waiting a beat whilst he picks up his drink and takes a gulp, then says, "I call it The Mind-Fuck."

A jet of water sprays from Sasha's mouth. "The what?" he splutters, fumbling round for a napkin to wipe his dripping chin.

"The Mind-Fu..."

"Don't!" Sasha barks before Beth can complete the repetition.

"But you said 'what'?" Innocent eyes tilt his way.

"I meant," Sasha starts, wrestling between calling Beth's parents and laughing his ass off, "why is it called The Mind- Fu...what it's called."

Beth pushes the glass toward him, expression still implacable. "Taste."

Logically, Sasha realises the drink is unlikely to be poisoned, alcoholic, or have him sprouting a third arm that Beth would surely name and shake hands with. Still, there's a certain level of trepidation as he picks up the glass.

"You're not secretly working for Ellen Beals, are you?"

Beth shakes her head solemnly. "Scouts honour," she promises, marring the declaration slightly by giving the peace sign instead of the three fingered salute.

Sasha shrugs with a sigh; whatever it is, he's bound to have tasted worse. He takes a sip. Then blinks. Twice. He carefully places the glass back in front of Beth.

"That's..."

He pauses, eyes scrunching so tight his eyeballs threaten to pop out the back of his head. His teeth feel coated with sugar, yet his throat is burning lemon-sour.

"That's..."

"A mind-fuck," Beth fills in, and this time Sasha has to concede the point.

"If anyone asks," he says, slightly hoarse from the power of the drink, "I gave you a lecture on why swearing is wrong."

Beth's forehead crinkles. "But I wasn't swearing, I was describing."

As the bartender passes them, carrying a tray of normal, non-law of nature defying drinks, he gives Beth a wider berth than necessary.

"It still counts," Sasha answers her, distractedly, wondering how traumatised the professional drinks maker is by having a fifteen year old demand such an original recipe.

"You demolished the garage."

"What?" Sasha looks back down at the counter. "Oh, right." He starts gathering up the mats for the rebuild, keeping a respectful distance from the drink Beth takes a deliberately long pull of through the mangled straw.

She blinks at him, face entirely unscrunched. There's the merest hint of a smile round her lips. She's toying with him.

Sasha flicks one of the plastic monkeys at her, feeling a deep smile when the action provokes one of the rarest and sweetest of sounds – a Beth Dean giggle.

Companionable silence reigns for a few minutes as Beth widens the bottom floor of her beer mat mansion. Sasha doesn't realise when Beth stops work, or that she's watching him; he's too busy concentrating on controlling the shakes in his hands as he tries to balance two mats in a single pyramid.

"Are the NGO after your hide?" she murmurs, watching his usually nimble fingers jerk and jitter.

"What do you mean?" There's suddenly a serious edge in Beth's usually ambivalent tone that has Sasha back on his guard.

"It's what my stepdad always says when someone crosses him, "I'll have their hide for this." Beth thickens her Kansas accent.

"The rumour mill is working hard tonight." Sasha wasn't surprised MJ knew about his less than salubrious entry to the party, or her warning that it won't have done much to help his chances of not getting fired, but Beth's awareness of the situation is a little unexpected.

Her shoulders hunch a little and she shuffles on the stool. The balancing shoe clatters to the ground. "I don't want a different coach."

Sasha continues to frown at his mats. "I'm not going anywhere yet."

" _Yet_ ," Beth repeats, sadly, picking up the all important caveat. How people can call this child slow is a fact Sasha finds increasingly difficult to understand.

"You won't be alone here." Sasha does look at her now, because that is a promise; whatever happens, in whatever capacity he needs to, he's staying in Rio until the championship is over.

Under such scrutiny from an adult, Sasha usually finds that a gymnast as young as Beth flinches away, embarrassed, self-conscious at such honesty. This time, it's he who feels self-conscious at the openness in Beth's eyes as she stares back at him.

"Kelly's not the only one you know."

"The only one what?" Sasha murmurs.

"Who has your and Payson's backs." Beth quietly takes another pull of drink and returns to her building.

It should be more of a revelation than it is, but, as Sasha sits watching this strange child balance a plastic monkey on top of two beer mats, it seems obvious; of course she would see what's between himself and Payson, recognise what most, more mature, more experienced than her, have missed completely.

With the calmest breathe he's taken since they left the hotel, Sasha twists and calls to the bartender. "Can we get some more beer mats over here?"

* * *

"So, I have no frame of reference or anything, but that went well, right?" Payson asks as they exit the Nautical Bar through a door that leads to a short corridor which winds back to the main lobby.

"Not a bad night's work." MJ is already checking her phone. The words that would be blunt from anyone else are praise from her.

The clock above reception tells Payson that the meeting has lasted about thirty minutes, so she follows MJ's lead, pulling out her own cell to check no other trauma has befallen Team USA during their short period of radio silence. There's nothing except a few texts from Kelly listing all the ways she plans to murder Lauren for breaking ranks with the AA tweet - Payson's favourite involves a vat of fake tan and some kerosene - and a curt group text from Marcus requesting the team gather in the lobby as they will be leaving shortly.

At least it means Payson doesn't have to venture back into the ballroom. Though she knows her posture and expression don't betray her, the stress of the evening is fast waning her energy.

"Over there," Payson gestures to MJ as she spots Hayley's polka dot dress. She's a little surprised to see Lauren standing with Darby; she'd assumed Marcus would have sent her back to the hotel, considering how serious he looked earlier, but then, such a public censure would perhaps cause even more bad press than they have already garnered.

"So, are we leaving, or what? I'm bored." Hayley greets them, pouting.

"Just awaiting Coach Belov and Miss Dean." Marcus directs his answer at Payson, the judgment in his pronunciation of Sasha's name acute enough to momentarily spike the glum sulk from Lauren's face.

"Did anyone check the bathroom?" she asks, with an airy innocence that has Payson looking to the ceiling rather than releasing the stinging slap she so desperately wants to aim at her teammate's face.

"There they are!" Darby announces, far louder than necessary, before slipping her arm through Lauren's and pulling her toward the main doors.

While the rest of the team follow this exit procession, Payson hangs back, watching Sasha steer Beth in the right direction when she gets distracted by the decorative fountain. He's far too pale, and there is more red than white in his eyes, but his stride pattern seems steady, so Payson allows Hayley - who's been tugging at her wrist - to pull her toward the doors.

"Oh, gross!" Hayley shrieks as soon they step from the revolving doors and are pelted with waves of rain. She relinquishes her grip on Payson and rushes to join the huddled mass of sequins and squeals that is Darby and Lauren running for the waiting car.

Instead of hurrying, Payson slows. The whipping gusts of warm, wet air scurry her hair in all directions, while her skin bubbles sweat under an assault of humidity after an evening of air con. She tilts her face to the sky and relishes the elements.

"Nice night," Beth nods her approval toward the violent waves pounding over the beach across the street as she skips by.

Cars skid through oil slick patches of street lights. As Payson wonders what it would be like to ride on the back of Sasha's motorbike through the city tonight, the weight of his shadow falls behind her. The lightest of touches to her bare back skitters goosebumps across her rain damp flesh.

"Wish you could dance tonight." His words drop like a kiss to her shoulder.

The night of the rain storm back home, when she danced like a ghost through the dark. She breathes through the memory as her feet carry her without instruction to the open doored limo, not trusting her will power enough to look back at Sasha.

"Jesus, close the door already!" Lauren barks as soon as Payson folds into the car, negating her instruction by leaning across Payson and dragging the handle shut herself.

The car moves off immediately. A quick headcount has all the adults except Darby absent. MJ will make sure Sasha gets back to the hotel, Payson has no doubt, only a strange jealousy that she immediately quashes.

The cavernous limo feels claustrophobic, and Lauren does little to dispel the enmity when she whispers, "thought you were supposed to be meeting with Calvin Klein right now? What happened? They find out about those granny panties you wear and change their minds?"

"I am not having this conversation with you," Payson hisses back.

"Don't try and challenge me in the looks department, it's embarrassing." Lauren's arms are folded tight, her legs crossed, her whole body taut.

"Lo..." It's a warning.

"Don't call me that!" Lauren snaps, quickly quieting her voice when Hayley and Beth look up from Hayley's phone. "Only my friends call me Lo, and you've made it quite obvious that we are not anything close to friends."

"You know you screwed up with that tweet," Payson counters with finality and ignores Lauren's furious silence.

"So," Darby chirrups giddily, again trying to disperse the tension. "Did everyone have fun at the party?"

As Lauren and Haley fight to be the first to answer the question, Payson watches her own reflection in the tinted window.


	43. Chapter 43

**CHAPTER FORTY THREE**

Rio rain will never challenge the stunning sting of a Romanian storm, but tonight it's sharp enough to temporarily shake the dizzy blur from Sasha's eyes.

There is no barrier along Copacabana Beach, the sand butts right up to a wide tiled promenade, which runs flush to the busy street, and sea foam is visible where it is gusting over the cresting waves.

Beer mat house building and a pint of water may have gotten him through the last half hour of the party but it was not a long enough sojourn to heal his bones or clean his bloodstream and Sasha can feel a wave of herded off pain threatening to break. He swallows, bites the inside of his cheek, and sets his focus on the minibus waiting to transport the members of Team USA not deemed vital enough to ride in the main car. As he hauls up into the seats, his vehicular demotion from the start of the evening does not go unnoticed.

A walk to an elevator, a walk from an elevator, doesn't sound like an arduous trek, and may not have been had a rampaging Kelly Parker not factored into the equation. As the elevator doors slide apart on the thirteenth floor, Sasha is greeted by a noise booming corridor full of flailing arms and flying hair.

"I'm gonna strangle her with her own tacky hair extensions!" Kelly bellows, lashing out with the arm Payson hasn't managed to wrestle under control.

"What the fuck is your problem?!" Lauren screams back, ducking just out of the way of Kelly's reach, while Hayley hovers behind her in an open doorway, Beth sits cross-legged outside her room as if watching a movie, and Darby bobs pointlessly at the outskirts of the melee contributing nothing but distraught squeaks.

"You had no right to blab my private business to the whole damn world!" Kelly snarls.

"Oh, get over yourself!" Lauren makes the mistake of pressing her point with a finger to Kelly's shoulder. She only just gets it out the way as Kelly's teeth snap.

"Just leave, Lauren!" Payson does an impressive job of keeping her voice steady considering she's bodily wrangling a wounded Kelly Parker.

"Screw you, Payson!" Lauren spits and Sasha wonders whether it's cowardice or pragmatism that has him waiting for the other elevator to arrive with reinforcements. Either way, he takes a couple of paces to the side, puts himself in the relative shelter of the shadow of an impressive yucca plant.

"What the hell is going on here?!"

Considering his current relationship with her daughter, Sasha should not be so relieved to hear Kim Keeler's voice.

"Ask Tweeting Tanner over there!" Kelly spits, attempting one further wrenching swipe at Lauren, before sagging back into Payson's grip, panting.

"Rooms! Now!" Kim demands, tone brooking no possibility of exception.

Hayley is gone before the syllables have finished echoing. Lauren issues a contemptuous sneer at the world in general before flouncing after Hayley, Darby at her heels.

"And this is you resting your ankle?" Kim greets Kelly with motherly frustration, proving her experience with teenagers by managing to steer Kelly, Payson, and Beth into the hotel room with no further need for words.

Sasha doesn't realise his eyes are closed until the swish of the second elevator's doors expel a new cacophony of voices, and an arm links through his.

"People will talk," he tells MJ, as she walks him up the corridor, fishing his room card from his back pocket, and, God, how many times has he required this woman's help in getting to a place of sanctuary when his body is stinging with self inflicted oblivion?

"You've always overestimated you own appeal, Belov," MJ informs as she keys his door open and ushers him inside.

Another argument is erupting behind them, Marcus and Steve's tart quips stoked by a vindictive Ellen Beals, who sweeps round the corner, apparently having witnessed the entire altercation between the gymnasts and unable to maintain her facade of deference to Marcus's authority a second longer.

"So now we have actual fights breaking out? What's it going to take to get you to start taking charge of this situation?" she shouts.

Sasha kicks the door into it's frame to shut out Marcus's icy riposte.

* * *

"Sweetie, I understand the urge to knock some sense into a Tanner – believe me – but sparring with Lauren is not going to help your ankle." Kim pushes a fresh ice pack into Kelly's hands, then bustles round the room folding any piece of clothing within reach and muttering about 'useless chaperones with all the sense of a head of lettuce' under her breath.

It's a fair description of Darby's use to Team USA in Payson's opinion, and Beth's, if the small girl's "Amen" is any indication.

"Sorry," Kelly mumbles, strapping the ice pack to her ankle with crepe bandage.

Payson watches the room through its reflection in the closed balcony doors. Outside, rain pounds through the dark. The yellow dots on the surrounding multistory buildings are hazy. The mountains are invisible, buried beneath night and storm.

How is it possible that her mom only arrived a few hours ago? Payson has had no opportunity to really process that, or anything else that's happened today. This is the first time the world has stilled enough to take stock.

But it doesn't still for long. The decision comes to her already formed.

Logically, she knows she should deliberate and consider, or at least wait five minutes, because she's exhausted, and emotional, and doesn't the maxim say nothing good happens after midnight? But whether it be an urge to get some control, or a need to get this terrifying conversation over with, she doesn't deliberate or consider or even wait five minutes.

"Kelly?"

"Look, I'm sorry I bit you, okay? I was aiming for Lauren. Bitch kept poking a finger at me." Kelly immediately counters, finishing pinning the bandage round her ice packed ankle.

"Could you bunk in with Beth tonight? I need to talk to my mom."

"I said I was sorry, Keeler. I'm not gonna go all Twilight and bite you in your sleep or anything."

The grumble may seem genuine, but Kelly has not missed the strange echo in Payson's voice. She limps over to stand beside her roommate. In the black window, she sees Payson's pale reflection and makes a guess as to what is about to happen.

"Do you snore?" Kelly directs to Beth, who is sitting on Kelly's bed juggling with three pairs of socks Kim has just balled.

"Does hiccupping count?" Beth answers without dropping a sock.

"I'll permit it just this once."

It's a pale shade of her usual sarcasm since Kelly's attention is on silent communication with Payson. She gives her friend's hand a tight squeeze, glances to the window and sends a prayer into the dark that the few people she holds constant in her life right now are not about to shatter.

"Where are they going?" Kim frowns as she comes out of the bathroom with an armful of towels in varying states of wetness that Kelly has apparently been hoarding for winter.

"Kelly's gonna stay with Beth tonight." Payson, pulse rate questioning what she's about to do, strips out of her dress and grabs some shorts and a shirt that Kim has just folded, action upsetting the rest of the neat pile.

"Pay, if you're worried Kelly might be a vampire, I think switching room assignments may be a little overcautious."

Kim smiles at her daughter, and Payson has to force herself to say, "Mom, I need to tell you something."

"What's up?" Kim separates the towels, drops some into a laundry bin, moves to return the remaining few to the bathroom.

"Maybe you should sit down." Payson's tone is enough to stall Kim's stride and have her clutching the towels a little tighter than needed.

"I need to sit down?" she repeats slowly.

"Maybe? Yes?" Payson carefully deposits herself on the end of her bed.

Still clutching the towel, Kim doesn't move, eyes flaring with maternal premonition.

"It's not a bad something. Well, not to me. You might think it's bad. At first. But just hear me out?"

"Oh God."

"Mom." Payson tips her head toward Kelly's bed: a silent _please_?

"Right, I'm sitting, I'm sitting." Kim glances round the room, looks at the towel, drops it in the bin with the others, and slowly sits down opposite her daughter.

Payson tries for a reassuring smile. She's pretty sure she fails spectacularly.

"Okay...so, what I want to tell you is...honestly I was going to tell you this... _we_ were going to tell you this when we got home but you're here now and I can't not tell you and…"

"Who's we?" Kim interrupts just as Payson is getting into her slightly incoherent flow.

"What?"

"You said _we_ were going to tell you. Who's we?"

"Well, there's me…" Payson trails off; it's never been so difficult to say Sasha's name.

"Yes."

"And...there's Sasha. There's me and Sasha. We're we. Him and me. We're a we, an us. That's what I wanted to tell you." There's a rush to the statements. Payson almost winces in preparation for her mom's reaction.

Kim just blinks at her. Payson blinks back.

"Sweetie, I'm gonna need a little bit more. You and Sasha are an us?"

So Kim really hadn't suspected anything. It takes all of Payson's brutally honed willpower to keep looking her mom in the eye.

"Sasha and I, we're...we're together."

The pause is both too long and infinitesimally short.

"Together." There is no inflection to Kim's three syllables.

Payson swallows. "A couple."

"A couple."

Payson has the absurd urge to laugh, the reminder of Becca driving her insane with the repetition game when they were kids so vivid.

"Mom…" She flinches when her voice cracks.

Kim is studying her daughter's face as if she hasn't seen her since the delivery room nearly eighteen years ago. "I don't understand."

"I'm so bad at this." Payson cracks her fingers, desperately trying to think of what to say. She swears she knows more words, words to make this clear; they have to be in her head somewhere. "Okay, so, me and Sasha..."

"We've established that, yes." A splinter of something - realisation? - is filtering onto her mother's face.

 _God, just say it._ Payson's takes a breath.

"I'm in love with him, Mom. And he's in love with me."

It comes out too loud for the room, but perhaps such confession can never have a correct pitch.

Kim frowns at the carpet.

"Hang on." She raises a finger. "I'm sorry, just...Can you repeat that last bit."

Payson closes her eyes, the fear of what she's just done almost taking over, and her words start to shake.

"We're together, mom. He loves me and I love him. I love him, Mom. And like I said, we were going to wait to tell you when we got back from Rio but then, you're here, and…Mom, say something."

Kim flicks her attention between the carpet, the window, Payson, at least three times before she says, "okay… You're…." Her hand is hovering in the air, as if searching for an anchor to hold. "Okay. Right. Um. I need to sit down."

Payson's lip trembles. "You are sitting down."

"Then I need to stand up." Kim snaps to her feet with a Marine's application.

"We can stand." Payson jumps to her feet.

Kim looks at her for a second. "No, sitting's better."

"That's good too." Payson drops to her mattress at the same time as her mom drops to Kelly's.

The silence extends along with the minutes.

"Mom, I know this is a shock, like a hell of a shock, but don't blame Sasha, ok?" Payson leans forward, capture's her mom's surprisingly cool hands. "This is something we decided together. He never put any pressure on me about anything, pretty much the opposite actually, and…"

"Is he in his room?"

"Sasha? Um, yeah, I think I saw him get off the elevator when Kelly was going all MMA on Lauren…."

Kim is halfway to the door before Payson's registered she's moved.

"Mom where are you going? Mom!"

* * *

Since MJ's preoccupied with filling a large glass of water, it's Sasha who opens the door in response to the pounding knock. Going by what kind of week he's having, he expects to find Marcus and Steve standing on the threshold, each eager to be the first one to fire him.

"Look…"

The rest of Sasha's greeting never gets passed that syllable; the fist that connects with the unblemished side of his face knocks the words back into his mouth and he swears he feels every letter slice into his brain.

On a good day - or perhaps night would be a better description since most of his previous experiences of getting hit in the head with inanimate objects or body parts not his own have taken place after dark - Sasha could have absorbed the blow with a side-step stagger, or a hand to a conveniently adjacent wall. Now, he sails backward into the already swirling room, sight going dead as some part of him - bruises will provide the evidence of which later - collide with the not at all plush carpet.

There's cursing, and door slamming, and apparently a clubbing jackhammer has stationed itself within ribs that have surely exited his chest cavity considering how hard it is to breathe without screaming.

"How could you, Mom?! God, are you okay?" It's Payson's voice and he senses her presence. He'll swear up and down - which is the way he feels the floor is moving right now - that his eyes are open, but damned if he can see.

"I'm fine." Is what he says. In his head. Out of his mouth comes a gurgled wretch that should send Payson running for the hills, if Kim hasn't already dragged her from the room.

"Don't try to talk." Payson is still here. He feels hands on his chest and, he can't help it, he really does scream this time.

A different hand is slapped over his mouth, immediately turning the grit-laced wail into a mumble.

"Let's not add 'coach murdered by rampaging mother' to the list of team USA's plaudits, shall we?" MJ's face flashes into existence. Sasha blinks some more, trying to clean his eyeballs as if they were glasses. The room swims back into view.

"Ow." The hoarse syllable is certainly a step up from howling and Sasha would be almost proud of himself, if coherence wasn't creeping back into this mind, if he couldn't see Kim Keeler standing over him, betrayal crossing every feature.

He would have said "you told her then," limped back to his usual defence of pathetic levity, but the women in the room are spared his automatic quip as Payson and MJ pick then to gently ease him to sitting. At least, he will ascribe the action as 'gentle'; it feels like his torso has been shoved into a garbage disposal.

"I'm sorry," he says, as soon as his lungs realise they are supposed to be providing oxygen. "I'm so sorry."

He looks Kim in the eye as he speaks, he owes her that.

"Be grateful I aimed for the good side you your face." The accusation of traitor is tied round her tone as much as it is her expression.

"Why did you do that?" Payson kneels beside him, fury directed at her mother.

"Imagine you'd just found out he was fooling around with Becca." Kim's voice is granite.

Sasha has eaten nothing but pills all day, and his purge at the party earlier has taken whatever lining was in his stomach. Still, his last conscious action is to twist away from Payson and aim for a free patch of carpet before the pained retching swallows his grip on reality.

* * *

If anyone hears the commotion in room 1307, no have a go hero appears to question it.

Payson and MJ find it relatively easy to move an half-conscious Sasha onto the bed, his weight loss over recent weeks evident in a way Payson can't believe she hasn't noted before. MJ backs away, allows Payson to unbutton Sasha's black shirt, to fetch a face cloth to wash away the sweat, wipe dry the skin, and reapply some butterfly suture strips to his healing cuts.

Neither MJ or Kim speak as Payson leaves the room, bucket in hand, to retrieve ice. They remain silent when she returns to wrap the ice in a towel and ease it onto Sasha's newly bruised cheek. It's not until Payson has seated herself on Sasha's bed, legs folded beneath her, that Kim speaks, and, even then, it's not to her daughter.

"You knew too, then." Kim, seated in the corner chair, all visceral certainty fled, eyes MJ, who has remained standing.

"For a few days," MJ confirms, with no recognisable inflection.

"And you didn't think to tell me during our conversation earlier?" Kim accuses.

"I knew they were planning to tell you everything as soon as they got back from Rio." MJ doesn't rise to Kim's tone.

Kim pauses, then accepts this explanation with a nod. "That's what Payson said." She has never had reason to doubt her daughter's word, though she has no idea what to do with the honesty of this confession.

The part of Payson's brain that is able to track the scores of her opponents without stealing attention from her own performance, is attending Kim and MJ's conversation. The rest of her, the core of her, is focused on Sasha. She eases the ice-pack back to check the inflammation of his cheek; it's red and slightly swollen.

"How long have you known him?" There's no venom in Kim's question, more of a calm curiosity, but Payson knows it is just as likely to flare into rage as if Kim had written the words on the wall in Sasha's blood.

"He was sixteen." MJ gives an age rather than a year. Payson's not sure why.

"I was thirteen."

Payson immediately glances from the ice-pack to watch the flickering of Sasha's eyes. There's a pull at his lips and Payson dusts the back of her fingers over his other cheek, without making contact with the skin. She doesn't care that her mom is watching.

"Wasn't sure you'd want that particular encounter aired." MJ finally drops into the desk chair, now that the requirement of medical intervention doesn't appear to require a summons.

"Tell them everything." Sasha swallows dryly after the words and Payson fetches the water glass she's already filled. There's a few moments of pained rearrangement but soon Sasha is propped up against cushions at an angle Payson approves of, if only because it doesn't cause his pallor to drop a shade further.

MJ tips her head, instructions accepted. "He was thirteen; I was nineteen. It was at some British media in sport event, an evening do that was way past his bedtime."

Payson watches Sasha listen.

"As a tennis player I was solid, never stellar and - though I didn't know it at the time - my career would be over seven months after that dinner. Still, I thought I was the soon-to-be slayer of Steffi Graf." MJ pauses, a distant smile. "I remember he actually tried to flirt with a group of us, of whom I was the youngest. He used an atrocious line but was adorable enough to just about get away with it."

"I was a little punk," Sasha chips in.

"An adorable little punk," MJ concedes.

"Why were you there?" Payson settles a little closer to Sasha, moves her free hand to rest on the cast on his broken arm.

Sasha closes his eyes; Payson wonders if he's watching his life skitter past behind his eyelids.

"My parent's divorced when I was little. I lived with mum in England; spent school holidays in Romania. Dad was never going to have a son who wasn't a gymnast, even if I did have to resort to training in 'inferior' English gyms most of the time. When I used that atrocious line on Matty…" Sasha stops. He opens his eyes and this time they don't immediately look to Payson.

"Haven't called me that for a long time." MJ for a moment looks young enough for Payson to understand her. A blink and the impression is gone.

"When I used that atrocious line," Sasha continues, breathing deeply to shuffle the merest of centimeters toward Payson, "I hadn't declared which country I would compete for internationally. I was arrogant enough to not even consider the possibility that I might not be good enough to represent _any_ country."

"You were young enough," Kim allows.

"Perhaps." He forms a smile that holds only shame.

Payson entwines their fingers as much as his cast will allow. "What made you go with GB?"

"Probably 'cause my dad was so vocal about me competing for Romania." He looks right at Payson. "That's the type of person I was."

Somewhere down the corridor a door slams. Payson's breath stills a moment as she waits for an intruding knock to break the honesty that she knows only has this one chance of keeping Sasha in her life.

"So you stopped training with your dad?" she asks, when the door remains silent.

Sasha moves his head enough to indicate dissent; the movement is tiny but the grimace is not.

"Think his dad liked to remind him that it was possible to change your national affiliation," MJ supplies, which is backed up by Sasha's grunted, "daily."

"I met him again in 97. Sasha was the star of team GB."

"Not exactly a big feat back then," Sasha says, accepting Payson's offer of the water glass.

"You won gold in Atlanta. Shut up," MJ scoffs.

Payson automatically looks at her mom, their similar sense of humors having made the action habituary. Kim is looking at the carpet.

"He hadn't got an agent at the time…" MJ trails off, a noticeable action since her sentences are always pre-prepared.

"My mum used to deal with all that stuff," Sasha takes the story and stares out the window. Rain still cascades down the pane. "She died shortly after the olympics."

This time when Payson looks at Kim, her mom is staring right at her and Payson has to swallow hard.

"I had no idea what I was doing. MJ seemed to know how everything worked."

That draws a sighed laugh from MJ. "I was twenty three, only a year of experience under my belt; it was quite the coup to land an athlete of Sasha's calibre. Together we...God, I know professional sport requires a robust ego but the two of us together must have been insufferable in our arrogance. Have you seen much of his press from back then?" Both Payson and Kim are included in the query.

"I've googled," Payson says, carefully neutral.

"You may have noticed a trend in the content?"

"Not a lot of them were about gymnastics." Payson busies herself with placing the ice pack back on Sasha's newest injury, so she's looking at him when he draws his eyes from the window and focuses them back on her.

"I thought I was so clever." Self-reproach from a woman as competent as MJ is unsettling. "Making the media sing my tune. Painting Sasha as the loveable rogue, the fun-loving scamp with a beer in one hand and a middle finger salute in the other. It was the 90s; it worked to be anti-establishment. I was so busy congratulating myself that I didn't realise I was believing my own spin."

"I made my own choices, Matty."

MJ holds up a silencing hand. "Let me be contrite just this once, Sasha. You're not the only one whose conscience could use a good cleanse." She looks to be struggling to maintain her steady voice.

"Dad kicked me out in 98."

"Kicked you out?" Kim watches Sasha.

"When I flew back to Romania - I kinda drifted between there and England after mum - he'd changed the locks at his house."

Payson tightens her grip. "Why would he do that?"

"My attitude, apparently. Though it had more to do with him finally realising I had no intention of switching my affiliation to Romania. Seemed to think that as I'd won gold for GB in Atlanta, it was only fair - considering the training I'd done there - to try and win it for Romania in Sydney."

Payson bites at her lower lip, thinking of the only time she had met Sasha's father. "But he showed up to help at trials when you called?"

Sasha once again moves his attention to the window. "Gymnastics is sacrosanct to my father. No matter what our personal relationship." He scratches at his face; Payson's not sure there's any skin left where that action wouldn't cause pain.

"So when I found I couldn't get into the house, I went to his gym to confront him. But he wouldn't see me. I was told by a guy I'd trained with since I was a kid that I was no longer welcome there. My stuff was in the trunk of his car; he looked like he'd have preferred to be anywhere else on earth than acting as my father's messenger boy."

There's suddenly steel in Sasha's tone, something dark, and the muscles in his jaw are working too hard. Payson is almost afraid to touch him.

"That's when I moved to England permanently," he rushes on, the dark receding but not by much, "and Nikolai became my coach. He saw it immediately, of course; how angry I was. Even picked up on my dad's history with the bottle. 'Course at the time I wouldn't admit there was anything wrong. I was having fun. Loving life. Where's Sasha Belov? Oh, look for the nearest party and find the bar!" The false merriment is tainted with disgust and his mouth shuts with momentary finality.

"It was easy to keep the press fooled back then - no blogs, no social media." MJ looks wistfully to the pre-internet past. "But it started getting harder to fool the gymnastics community. You know what gossips they can be."

Kim agrees with a nod. She's watching MJ closely.

"His reputation went from 'rebel' to 'unstable' after he turned up to a number of events, shall we say, the wrong side of tipsy."

"I was off my head." Sasha grips Payson's hand a little harder.

"Were you two together?" Kim asks and Payson schools her expression to something she hopes nears neutral; it's a question that's been present since she signed with MJ.

MJ actually chuckles, but there's no offence in it. "I guess if you were being very generous you could describe us as that, and we certainly would have claimed so back then, but…" She looks at Sasha with the affection of those that meet in youth. "We were far too...well, selfish in my case, lost in his, for our relationship to have been called 'together'." Her eyes are staring to sheen. "Would you say that's fair?"

Though the damaged muscles prevent Sasha's smile from flaring, the acceptance shows in his eyes. "Spot on, I'd say. Apart from the insinuation that I wasn't selfish."

There's a part of Payson bubbling with so much jealousy she suspects this may be what Lauren feels like all of the time. She's on the cusp of spitting at MJ something territorially ridiculous like "back off" but somehow grinds her gritted teeth into saying "so how did you win in Sydney?"

"Nikolai," Sasha says, without hesitation.

His attention is all back on Payson. It salves away the pointless corrosion of hating that she couldn't have been the one with him during those years.

"He could have written me off, like my dad did. God knows it would have been justified considering my behaviour."

"But he didn't." Kim has redirected her appraising gaze to Sasha.

Sasha waits a beat, then sighs deeply, closes his eyes and leans back into the pillows.

"In 1999, there was a meet in Strasbourg."

MJ shifts in her chair but the Keelers retain their focus on the boy she once considered hers.

"This was post Worlds, where I pretty much blew every event. The meet was more demonstration than anything - no real pressure to do more than show up - but the reception that was held the night before was a big deal. Championing the European teams before Sydney, or something like that." Sasha opens his eyes but looks at the hand he has locked round Payson's rather than meeting her concerned gaze.

"I'm afraid most of my knowledge of what happened comes from other people. My own memory is pretty much a blank." He coughs and swallows. "Nikolai apparently found me passed out in a toilet stall. He thinks I hit my head on the bowl when I was throwing up. Which was after I'd tried to punch out the wall tiles, if the blood smeared over my knuckles and half the wall were to be believed. And they were." He twists the hand Payson is holding, releasing her grip and raising it so she can see better.

She wonders that she never noticed the series of hairline scars before.

"Nikolai somehow managed to get me out a back exit without any photos being taken. He arranged to have the bathroom cleaned up and the next day I woke up in a private rehab facility."

Payson is cradling his hand as if the knuckles are still bleeding. "Were you there?" she says, turning her head a fraction but not looking directly at MJ.

There is enough snarled accusation in Payson's question that MJ would be justified in shooting back with equal venom. But her voice is quiet and thinned with a guilt that eats away the years. "I walked the red carpet with him that night, but we had a blazing row and I didn't bother to look for him when he disappeared. I didn't know what had happened or, to be honest, even think about it, until Nikolai called me two days later."

"I'd gone on benders before, Matty. You weren't to know I wasn't on one then."

MJ doesn't answer.

"But," Payson says, choosing to search her own memories rather than judge MJ's, "Sasha, I've seen you drink at parties. If you're an…" she bites back the word so Sasha fills it in.

"Alcoholic? Addict?"

Payson nods.

"Alcohol, prescription drugs, they were never the addictive part for me, if that makes any sense." He begins the laborious process of sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed as he tries to recall conversations with his old therapist.

"I drank - took pills on the worst days - because I had to keep going, keep moving, keep training, anything to stop me standing still for the tiniest of seconds, because if I stopped? It would have run me over like a freight train."

"What would have?" Payson anchors his waist to allow him to twist his legs.

"That was it - at the time I didn't know. I just knew it was there, right behind me, dragging at me, following me everywhere. I wouldn't ask for help because I didn't know how anyone _could_ help me. I thought for a while it's how everyone felt inside and I should just get one with it. I was constantly wired, even when I was sober. Constantly primed for _something_ to happen, even if I had not idea what that something was. It was manageable when I could drive it all into my gymnastics, use it as fuel, but when it started to spill over? Look, I could claim a whole bunch of cliche reasons; divorce, father issues, dead mother…"

The humour sharpened bitterness isn't thick enough to mask the honest grief.

"Whatever the source, I was an angry, emotionally immature, punk who was always headed for some kind of fall. I realise this can't exactly help your opinion of me, Kim." Sasha sighs as he settles into the new seated position, toes pushing hard into the carpet.

When she speaks, Payson is surprised by the evenness of her mother's voice.

"On the contrary, I appreciate the honesty. From both of you." She looks at her daughter, and there is the hint of tears in her sad smile. "I almost wished you'd lied."

Payson frowns, glances to Sasha who remains looking at Kim.

"It would have made it a hell of a lot simpler for me. I'd have had Payson out of here tonight, blaming you for manipulating her and ruining her life every step of the way." No one can doubt the sincerity of the statement.

"And now?" Sasha asks, after Payson opens her mouth, hesitates, and closes it again.

Kim, gripping both arms of the chair, huffs a laugh to the ceiling.

"Now? He asks." And there is something of their old rapport when she looks again at her daughter's...hell, she has no idea what to even call this man half of her feels she's never met before. "What would you say if I told you never to see Payson again?"

Sasha places a staying hand on Payson's knee when she starts to answer.

"With all due respect, I'd have to hear it from Payson that that was what she wanted. If it was? I'd go."

Kim shoots back a response over Payson's denials that quiets the room. "And the fact that she's my child?"

"Kim." The seriousness in Sasha's tone tightens Payson's stomach. "If there were a single part of me that viewed Payson as any kind of _child_ , there would be no necessity for this conversation."

The silence is long and laden with the implications underpinning such an answer until MJ feels it is her turn to offer reassurance from nigh on fifteen years association.

"And if there were a single doubt in my mind that Sasha's motivation was not a hundred percent driven by honest and respectful love for your daughter, I would have nailed his testicles to the wall and set them on fire."

The laughter is mutual and ice breaking, but temporary, and too quickly no one knows where to look.

"So," Payson ventures, stealing her will and echoing Sasha's query. "What now?"

"Well," MJ says, when no one else responds, "and yes, I fully realise this is the most English of answers, I could do with a nice cup of tea." She bustles more than necessary standing up, providing the room with some needed white noise. "Kim, can I tempt you?"

Such a simple question for such a momentous fork in the road. Payson knows Kim could still push through on the threat of getting Payson out of here tonight, or at least try too. The thirteenth floor corridor may yet have another screaming argument to add to tonight's tally.

Kim stands slowly, hesitantly, and Payson hates herself for being the reason for the fragility in her mother's posture. A stride is all it takes to put her mom in front of her and Payson bites her lip as Kim's hand strokes gently over her head. There's so much in the gesture, in the lingering quiet, that Payson has no words to either reassure or disagree with whatever decision her mom is forming.

"Make it a coffee and you've got a deal." Kim's throat is razor wire tight as she finally accepts MJ's offer.

Payson wants to hug her mom but no real decisions have been made, just a late hour truce based on emotional exhaustion, so she stays beside Sasha, eyes closing when Kim strokes her hair one more time, keeps them closed until the door opens and seals.

It's Sasha who moves first. His whole body tremors as he stands, Payson rising with him, and it takes a few moments before he nods a reassurance of his own grip of the earth.

"Bathroom," he offers, by way of explanation, and the effort in his levity catches Payson's heart.

He shuffles rather than walks, the door clicking shut behind him.

Payson's hand is trembling as she flicks the main internal door lock, so she grips her fingers into a fist then releases, twice. She looks for a clock, no idea what time it is. Her sight has just focused on the green digits of the bedside alarm when she hears the bang.

The bathroom door isn't locked; had it been, Payson barrels into it with enough force to have added a new bolt to the room bill.

There's harsh contrast between the pristine white tiles and Sasha's slumped torso. He's seated rather than prostrate, propped up against the sink unit, but the angle of his legs is too uncomfortable for the position to be voluntary.

Payson halts her momentum with the ease of well-honed reflexes, rather than skid to her knees and grab his face, pepper him with "are you ok?" demands.

With the greatest of care, because if she gets this wrong Payson knows - by instinct if not experience - that medication and sheer pain have burned through all the boundaries she associates with the Sasha she loves, that his reactions are currently as volatile as an open circuit board, that he could lash out without meaning to and she will lose him forever because he would grant no forgiveness for his own actions.

Slowly as she is able, Payson lowers and folds into crossed legs, arranging herself half a foot from Sasha. He's staring at the base of the bath tub, eyes unnaturally wide, breathing through gritted teeth.

Making sure her hand is visible to him as she reaches, Payson runs one finger along his stubbled jaw line, easing his chin to bring his face in her direction. She realises she's murmuring, but she isn't sure what words. Sasha allows the touch, the movement, but his eyes remain staring at the point they must have been trained on since his legs gave out on him.

His breathing is getting shallower, bared teeth tensing tighter. The grief-shamed whimper that slips through all the guards he is battling to keep locked bring the tears that have not been far away from Payson's eyes - perhaps since the car crash - streaming to the surface.

Her own sobs she keeps silent, as she gently eases Sasha's head to her lap, because the growled pain that starts to wrack through his gritted teeth, his screwed shut eyes, the fists she has to stop smashing into his skull when he tries to punch away whatever it is he's reliving, those are the sobs that need to be heard, need to be released.

As she cradles him, protects him, allows the tears and the cries and the blood from his reopened wounds - those on his body and those in his mind - to flow without censure or pity, Payson repeats a promise she knows nothing will ever make her break: "I'm here, Sasha. I'm here."

* * *

"It's official: I'm the worst mother in the world; may as well just hand me the sash now because the judges' decision would be unanimous!" Kim tips her head back, closing her eyes, complete bewilderment pinwheeling her usually steadfast demeanour. "I just left my teenage daughter in a hotel room with a half-dressed man fourteen years older than her!"

They're in MJ's hotel room, Kim told firmly to sit while MJ bustles around with tea bags and the mini travel kettle she never leaves England without.

"Here." MJ proffers a steaming cup.

Kim cracks one eye. "Is it poison?"

"It's camomille."

Kim takes the cup and stares into the cloudy liquid. "You left the bag in."

"It's steeping." MJ sighs relief round a gulp of her own still scalding regular tea.

"I have no idea what that means," Kim says, screwed up face reminiscent of her daughter.

"May I ask you a question?" MJ says. Sasha's confession has dredged through a well of emotion she'd have happily left to decompose. Though she knows it's what he needed - maybe what she needed too - she is soothed to shrug back on the comfortable solace of her business voice.

"Shoot." Kim shrugs, poking a teaspoon at the steeping bag hard enough to puncture.

"Do you love your daughter because of her achievements?"

It's blunt enough to capture Kim's focus immediately.

"Yes." She frowns, then recants when she runs over the question. "No. I mean..." she waves one hand, the other placing her tea on the desk. "I'm proud of Payson's achievements, amazed by them, amazed by her, but...no, they're not the _reason_ I love her.

"Do you value her for the prestige and financial potential she brings your family?" MJ asks, mildly, over the rim of her cup.

"What?" Kim almost recoils. "No! I mean, God, MJ, I've never thought in those terms. I value Payson for who she is, the incredible person that she is."

MJ doesn't let up. "What comes first: her happiness or her reputation?"

"Her happiness, obviously." Anger is starting to creep into Kim's answers as she continues. "Ok, if her reputation affected her happiness then, yeah, I'd be concerned, but my focus would always be Payson."

"If…"

"Hold on," Kim interrupts, starting to stand, but it takes a lot more than a slightly increased volume and a change of body position to derail MJ.

"...you truly believed your daughter was in danger, is there any situation which you wouldn't do everything in your power to remove her from?"

Kim, hands using the chair arms as support, pauses mid stance, then slowly lowers back into the seat. She waits, but it's to still her emotion rather than have to consider her answer.

"They'd be nothing on this earth that could stop me."

She looks at MJ, and the younger woman dips her head in deference to the inherent promise in the words.

"Then, Mrs Keeler," MJ sighs dramatically, draining the dregs of her tea and immediately flicking on the kettle to re-boil, "I'm afraid you won't be receiving any kind of worst mother award tonight, or any night I suspect."

MJ can make a cup of tea one handed and half blind, but she directs all her attention on pouring the water and adding the bag, pretending she doesn't hear the few palm muffled tears that Kim quickly forces under control.

"As long as we're being honest," Kim says, finally, drawing a tissue from the box MJ slides across the desk in the guise of making room to allow her to perch on the edge. She catches MJ's eye and there is gratitude along with the half smile as she points at the still full tea cup. "Pretty sure I was promised coffee."

"My mistake," MJ smiles.

* * *

Sasha cries for a while, pain so many years deep not being easy to quell, but eventually laboured breathing is the only indication of his emotion and soon even that stills to the point that Payson feels confident enough to ask, "do you think you could sleep?"

His immediate answer is to peal away from her lap and haul himself to standing despite Payson advising him to go slow, and she is once again grateful for her muscle strength when the sudden change in equilibrium has him swaying like a reed.

"Don't do anything by halves, do you, Belov?" She wraps one arm round his waist, the other steadying his hip, and they wait together for him to adjust to gravity.

"I'm sorry." His mumble is directed into her hair, where his bowed head is resting.

"Don't even," she tells him, twisting so she can kiss reassurance into him, knowing he is hardly capable of hearing a worded offering, let alone comprehending or accepting it. "You good to take a few steps?"

They manage to reach the bed without incident, Sasha's exhaustion evident from the way he allows Payson to remove his shirt without attempting to help, as much as from his closed eyes. His dress slacks will just have to works as pyjama pants tonight, though Payson unbuckles the belt and removes it from the loops to stop it digging in.

A bit of shuffling, and Payson's assistance in lifting his legs onto the mattress, and he is lying flat. Though the position may not be the best for his ribs, it's a vast improvement to sleeping on the bathroom floor.

As she's draping a sheet over Sasha's lower body, a speck of reflected light catches Payson's eye. She leans over to investigate and tries very hard to keep her mind blank as she reaches down and pulls a nearly empty bottle of Jack Daniels out from between the bed and nightstand.

The clear water running from the faucet tints amber as she pours the dregs down the sink. She deposits the bottle in the trash can, pushing away the desire to search the rest of the room for similar items.

It would probably be sensible, once she's checked Sasha isn't about to choke on his own tongue, to return to her own hotel room. Payson gives the idea about a second's consideration before she snaps off the bathroom and main room lights, and climbs onto the free side of Sasha's mattress. Sensible has hardly been the watchword of the day.

The need for sleep is almost suffocating, yet Payson finds herself staring out the uncurtained window. The rain has slowed, drops slip-sliding down the pane in journeys punctuated by long pauses. Night black clouds offer no hint of the moon.

At the start of the evening, she was jealously conscious that MJ's knowledge of Sasha's past far surpassed her own. Now? There is burden in his confession, true, but Payson feels no regret in having silently hoped for it, because she has always valued difficult knowledge over easy ignorance. Ellen Beals and Marcus Collins can make whatever insinuations they wish now; Payson has witnessed Sasha's truth.

Retrieving a spare cushion, Payson hugs it to her as she shifts on to her side. There's no playing it down, Sasha's face is a mess, even in the low overspill light of highrise buildings, but Payson shies away from anger toward her mother for adding to the damage. She cannot say that in reversed roles, it is not the action she would have taken too.

The coming days loom heavy if she considers the future as a lump sum, so she splits her thought stream, takes each obstacle as a separate issue, starting with that of least concern. Summer's loaded comments regarding Payson's choice of 'path' have lost their urgency now Kim is aware of the relationship with Sasha. Lauren's betrayed attitude will only be relevant if it influences her behaviour in the team final. Sasha's position as head of the Rock can be dealt with after Rio; his position as national coach, Payson has no control over, so there is no action she can take until the NGO show their cards.

As her mind starts to turn over the rest of her issues, Payson shuffles closer to Sasha, presses herself flush to his side. In his sleep, Sasha's head tips toward her; she kisses him lightly, and hooks her foot round his calf, the only place she can touch him without aggravating the healing process.

Thanks to the lack of a recent MRI, no one knows the true state of Kelly's ankle, so hypothesising about the future would be pointless, and would probably be met with barbed wire defence anyway; unsentimental support is all Kelly will tolerate so that is what Payson will be there to provide.

Her mom? Payson hugs the cushion tighter, wishing she was able to wrap herself around Sasha instead. All she can do is keep talking honestly to her mom and hope that… Payson closes her eyes; the end of that thought is as clouded as the Rio sky.

Strangely, in the place she suspected she'd find the most difficulty, she finds clean clarity. Sasha's immediate future may be uncertain, but Payson's knowledge that she will be right by his side to help with every decision, every choice, is as solid as her muscle memory of every fragment of every routine that she will throw over the days to come.

REM sleep still seems some distance away so Payson reverts to meditation breathing, contracting and relaxing each muscle in accordance with the swell and ebb of her diaphragm. Slowly, quietly, her mind begins to dim, and the last thing she is aware of is her little finger curling around Sasha's thumb.


	44. Chapter 44

**CHAPTER FORTY FOUR**

Since the phone's obnoxious alarm tone is set to silent, it's vibration through the mattress beside her head that wakes Payson. She slaps at the general area without opening her eyes and lucks out when one of the swipes connects with the snooze button. Peering over Sasha's steadily rising and falling chest, Payson groans internally when the bedside clock affirms that it is actually six am.

She indulges her usual post-wake up full body stretch, series of clicking joints signalling skeletal reset, before rolling off the bed and repeating the stretches standing. She's laying her palms flat on the carpet, sighing through the spinal pull when her phone starts to bounce again. This time, it's not her hand that stops it.

"Sorry," she winces, kneeling on the bed to look down on a now awake Sasha. "You should go back to sleep; I just didn't want to be caught doing the walk of shame. Not that we did anything to be ashamed of," she adds, hastily, wincing again for a different reason.

"Think crying in your lap on the bathroom floor counts as shameful." Sasha's voice is more rasp than words and his forehead wrinkles in pain.

"Don't even," Payson warns, keeping her voice quiet and movements gentle as she eases off the bed, grabs a water glass, and goes to the bathroom to refill. "We talk about the awkward stuff, remember?" she says when she returns, grabbing a pillow to push under Sasha's shoulders as he sits forward to try and ease his breathing.

"A breakdown ain't talking," Sasha tries to argue, but fatigue weighs his eyelids and his dusty voice is only partly quenched by the sips of water.

"I'll make an exception," Payson tells him, silencing any further argument with a kiss to his water spattered lips.

As Sasha gives up the fight to keep his eyes open, Payson does a quick injury assessment. The bruises on his ribs aren't the violent red they were after the initial crash impact, and the butterfly bandages on his facial lacerations have allowed the re-torn upper layers of skin to scab over, but she doesn't fool herself into thinking that last night's abuse has not set his healing back a fair way. Also, if she doubted the power of her mom's shock, proof is evident in the purple and green bruising that's flared over his cheek and crept round the base of one eye.

"Should I risk the mirror or d'you think it'll crack?" Sasha half smirks, half sighs.

"I thought you told me chicks dig scars?" Payson strokes her fingers up and down his bare arm.

"Right." Blindly, he searches for her hand and she rewards his catch with a kiss.

"I should go." Every instinct that loves Sasha is screaming at her not to leave this room.

He nods carefully but doesn't let go of her hand.

"Where's your phone?" Payson makes herself say. The clock has ticked through to 6:10 and the window for relocating to her own hotel room without being accosted by other people on the floor is rapidly diminishing.

Sasha's face wrinkles. "Pass?" He peers through half slit eyes and Payson wonders how it's possible to look so adorable with that many bruises on your face.

"You had a jacket at the party?" Payson scouts about the room, wondering if it's his current state of health that means the place looks like a localised bomb exploded his suitcase, or if he just generally is as messy as Kelly.

"At the start." Sasha's nod turns to a shake as he remembers. "Not at the end."

"And it wasn't in your pant's pockets, so..." Payson says, scanning the desk, "...found it!" She spies the phone face down beside a bloodied wash cloth. She collects the phone and ignores the cloth, but it's an unwelcome reminder.

"Any messages?" Sasha asks, in the process of easing his legs off the side of the bed so he can stand up. Payson's about to scold him to lie back down when he pre-empts her with "need the bathroom."

"Oh." Payson feels momentary embarrassment then shakes her head at her own ridiculousness, though this doesn't stop her adding an unnecessary, "I'll wait here." She winces. "Because I can't do that for you...obviously."

Sasha chuckles then says, "9600."

"Huh?"

"My phone code." The bathroom door closes but the lock doesn't shoot across and that tells Payson enough about how steady Sasha feels on his feet this morning.

She taps in the code, a little stunned that Sasha would trust her to look at his phone without hanging over her shoulder, and opens his email. There's a couple of generic seeming group ones that Payson just scrolls through, but the latest unopened is from and is marked 'urgent'.

"You've got an email from Marcus." Payson calls through the door just as Sasha is flushing the toilet, so she repeats herself, tamping down on her flaring anxiety at the email's possible content.

"What's it say?" Sasha opens the door as he asks, then props his back on the door frame, tipping his head against the wood and closing his eyes.

Payson automatically slips a supporting arm round his waist as she opens the message and reads. It's short and direct and she barely needs to paraphrase.

"He says Dr Jake will be by at 7 to do a medical assessment."

Payson feels Sasha take as deep a breath as his ribs will allow. She looks up at him, but his eyes are still closed and directed at the ceiling.

"Any texts?" he asks before Payson can question her first thought that Marcus would not send Jake in because he was purely concerned for Sasha's health.

Payson switches apps and bites the inside of her mouth to stop herself swearing at the sight of Steve Tanner's name in bold print. She selects the message, reads, and feels every part the coward when she is unable to say aloud the words written, instead holding up the phone, and waiting for Sasha to open his eyes when his question remains verbally unanswered.

"I guess that saves me a letter," Sasha says, calmly, after he has read the text through twice. He moves both his arms round Payson's waist, hugging her from behind and resting his chin lightly on her shoulder.

"That bastard," Payson snarls, because she is sure as hell not about to adopt Sasha's zen reaction. She brandishes the phone in one hand, using the other to cradle Sasha's clasped hands on her stomach.

"Can't blame him," Sasha sighs against her ear.

"He fired you over text message," Payson hurls her contempt into every syllable. "What the hell kind of person does that?"

"A person I no longer have to think about." Sasha's starting to sway, Payson can feel it. She tightens her grip on his hands.

"So he's suddenly not going to be bugging you every second about upgrading Lauren's bars d-score?" Payson understands the unwritten ultimatum in Marcus demanding Sasha take a medical test, and this is her only way of asking him if he thinks he's about to be fired from two jobs in one morning without bursting into angry tears.

Carefully, Sasha extricates his arms, but Payson doesn't have long to miss his touch because he turns her round by the shoulders, takes both her hands with his and raises them to his lips to kiss. He tilts his eyes up to look at her as he does so and Payson can feel her tears spark anyway.

"You don't deserve this," she whispers, as a tear drop slides down her cheek and Sasha leans to catch it in a kiss.

"Don't worry about it," he says, but Payson pulls her hands free so she can frame his face and look him straight on as she corrects. "I know you don't have much faith in yourself at the moment, so let me have it for you. You do not deserve to be treated like this."

Sasha's brow wrinkles and he pulls Payson with him as he steers toward the bed, sinking as the backs of his knees connect with the mattress. She sits nexts to him and he cradles her hands again. "Do not let them take any of your focus or energy."

It's his coaching voice, if understandably less vigorous than usual, and Payson sniffs, biting away the tears from her upper lip. Focus, she needs to focus.

"That's it," Sasha kisses her, reading the determination that's blinking back into her expression.

A check of the clock and it's 6:23.

"You'll text me when Jake's been?" Payson asks, though her tone demonstrates it's not a question. She moulds her hand round the back of Sasha's head, nails creeping through the growing stubble.

"Ma'am, yes, Ma'am," Sasha affirms, saluting an index finger, head pressing into her touch as his eyes flicker.

Payson presses a long kiss to Sasha's forehead, holding him tight as she builds the courage to leave him behind.

* * *

"Death by fake tan; i'm telling you, nobody would blame us." Kelly narrows her eyes down the row of chairs, past Payson and the rest of her teammates, to land her murderous intentions on Lauren.

"Do you have a spare vat of fake tan?" Payson queries, keeping her attention on the scoreboard, waiting for the men's team's placings to flash up now the third rotation has ended.

"It's always the details with you, isn't it, Keeler?" Kelly snaps.

"Clap," Payson instructs, already applauding.

Kelly looks at the screen. "They're in fifth. I'm not clapping fifth."

"Cameras," Payson mutters out the corner of her mouth.

"Oh for God's...fine." Kelly slaps her palms together twice then returns her arms to the folded position she's had them snapped in since the first rotation.

"Real inspiring, Parker."

"I'm a gymnast, not a cheerleader."

"And not a murderer so can you quit it with the death threats?" Payson claps a few more times as the arena music blares and the twelve teams on the floor line up to move onto their next apparatus, then checks her phone. Still no text from Sasha.

"On a scale of one to choke, how're they doing?" Beth, sitting on the other side of Payson, asks in a loud whisper.

"They can pull it back on high bar," Payson answers at the same time as Kelly gripes, "the noose is about to drop."

"Oh," Beth looks between the older girls. "So what...a five?"

The women's team, plus Darby and - to Payson's chagrin - Summer, have commandeered chairs in the first row of the upper seating section. Gymnasts and staff from other countries are dotted about the same area.

"...worried about him. Steve said the doctors were assessing..."

Payson keeps catching snippets of Darby and Summer's conversation. They seem to think not mentioning Sasha's name is enough to prevent anyone realising who they're talking about.

"Do that much more and they'll pop out," Kelly predicts as Payson once again cracks her finger joints.

"How dumb do they think…" Payson starts but is interrupted by the buzzing of the phone in her lap. She snatches it up, holding it at an angle that makes is visible to only her.

 _Guess i'll be able to lie in tomorrow. Marty's in charge. x_

Payson closes her eyes, swallowing down every impulse to hurl her phone off the balcony. Her phone buzzes again.

 _Focus. Don't waste your energy x_

Against her own will, her lips twitch.

"And?" Kelly prompts, watching Dale Decker mount for USA's first high bar routine. "The verdict?"

A response proves unnecessary as a chorus of beeps and jingles signals the eruption of all the girl's phones at once. It's Lauren that just beats Hayley to the loud, "oh my God!" that brings the attention of all those sitting in a five seat radius.

"Nice of Collins to wait all of two minutes before telling the world." Kelly scans the email quickly, precising out loud for Payson's benefit.

"Grateful for Coach Belov's contribution...unfortunate chain of circumstances...unable to be medically cleared...wish him a speedy recovery. Well," she gives Payson's thigh a quick squeeze, "at least they didn't throw him under the bus. Guess cause he already looks like he got run over by one". She nudges Payson with her elbow. "Gees Keeler, I don't break out the gallows humour for just anyone you know. Little acknowledgement?"

But Payson's subsequent wince is not a reaction to her roommate's joke; Decker, wringing the high bar like he's fixing to snap it, misses his catch from a Jaeger release and slams face first into the mat. He's on his feet within moments - no serious injury done - but he'll drop at least a point in the USA's strongest event.

"Pretty sure he's the one who'll look like he's been hit by a bus." Payson slides a glance at Kelly then nods to the big screens in the centre of the arena's ceiling; a close up of Decker's face reveals a very red nose.

Kelly's comeback - and the direct view of the rest of Decker's routine - is blocked by Darby crouching down in front of them.

"You guys okay?" The woman's concern is sincere, Payson knows that, but she can't bring herself to rebuke Kelly for her very sarcastic "oh, we're just peachy, thanks".

"So who's in charge now?" Hayley queries, providing Darby some respite.

"Marty's been appointed for the rest of the championship".

Her words are punctuated by a 10,000 voiced groan as Decker lands his dismount on his knees. Beth grabs her neck and makes like she's being strangled.

"But don't worry about Sasha," Summer drops down beside Darby. "He just needs to recuperate, get himself back on track".

Payson is ready to meet the look she's certain Summer will push in her direction, and the annoyance she feels inside must be flushing her face with stone since Summer looks away after they've barely made eye contact.

"Guess Daddy was right to fire Sasha."

Lauren, always incapable of pitching her volume with regard for those who are in listening range, seems to be simply thinking out loud, but Kelly, Hayley, and Beth all shoot forward in their seats to stare at her. Payson pinches the bridge of her nose and wonders if sells fake tan in large enough vats to drown irresponsible loud mouths.

"Oops."

If Payson was in a generous mood, she would allow that Lauren's apologetic lip biting seems genuine, if shrugged away too soon.

"I wasn't supposed to tell anyone that, was I?"

Darby and Summer trade looks as Kelly twists to watch Payson and Lauren tries to appear bashful.

"No," Darby agrees, slowly, with the lenient tone usually aimed at an eight year old who has inadvertently tattled.

"But I guess you guys were going to find out eventually, anyway." Summer graces them all with a 'Jesus will guide us' smile.

"When?" Kelly mutters to Payson as Summer launches into 'everything works out the way it should even if it seems bad at the time' speech.

"This morning." Payson watches Winston Clarke, USA's second up on high bar, on the big screen with way more attention than necessary considering the mess he's making of every handstand connection. "By text."

"Fuck." Kelly sits back in her chair and blinks.

"Pretty much," Payson agrees, latent anger corroding her insides.

"Am I in time? Has he been up yet?"

Payson almost whiplashes her neck checking she hasn't lost her mind entirely and started hearing voices.

"Kaylie? Oh my God!" Lauren's shriek is loud enough to add a least a few tenths shuffle to any of the gymnasts unfortunate enough to pick that moment to dismount.

Kaylie, followed by her father, hurries up the last few steps from the lower tier, which come out right in front of Team USA's seats. Lauren gathers her up in an ecstatic embrace and she is seemingly passed along the row by a series of hugs.

"Hey Pay!" Kaylie greets her with a quick squeeze and wide eyes. "Has he done his high bar yet?"

"He's up next," Payson finds herself saying automatically, as Kaylie sags with relief then hurries across the walkway to lean on the balcony barricades and look over toward the high bar mat. Lauren and Hayley join her, waving to catch Austin's attention, as Darby and Summer greet Alex Crux with shared delight

On the big screen, the TV camera captures the moment Austin recognises Kaylie, who blows him a kiss he pretends to catch. A wave of spontaneous applause washes through the charmed crowd.

"Be real awkward now if he…" Beth finishes her sentence by slipping an imaginary noose over her head, lolling out her tongue, rolling her eyes back into her head, and miming hanging limply from a swaying rope.

Luckily Payson and Kelly are the only ones who notice her.

* * *

"It could have been worse?" Kim offers, fully expecting the 'seriously?' look Payson shoots across the table.

"They got sixth."

"Yeah, not great," Kim admits, shrugging her mouth and picking up her large coffee cup.

They're tucked in the back corner of a Starbucks, the closest coffee shop they could find to the arena where Payson has to report for training in an hour.

"At least Austin held it together." Kim licks foam from her upper lip. "Thought Kaylie showing up like that might have affected his concentration."

Payson uncaps her water bottle and swigs a gulp around an half-affectionate, "Austin loves to show off."

"Well at least one of the men's team do."

Mother and daughter's shared smile is brittle and nervous.

"So…" Payson busies her fingers with tearing the wrapper on a protein bar she smuggled in in her pocket.

"So…" Kim repeats, wishing she'd allowed herself that danish, if only to give her something to fiddle with too. She takes a deep breath. "How's Sasha?"

A piece of protein bar is halfway to Payson's mouth. She lowers it back to the table then realises she doesn't have a plate to put it on.

"Here." Kim slides across her saucer.

"He's...tired," Payson says, putting her snack on the impromptu plate.

"Understandable," Kim nods.

"Steve fired him this morning."

"I heard." Kim picks up her coffee, her brain running over all the possibilities that Payson's time stamp of 'this morning' could carry.

A group of four try and fit round a table meant for one over by the window. Payson watches their easy camaraderie as one of them pulls out a cell to capture the image of three of them trying to sit on one stool. She turns to look at her mother.

"Did I do the right thing? Telling you last night?"

"Yes," Kim says immediately, reference to what they have been dancing around since Kim met Payson at the arena finally breaking the tension. "I'll admit it was a shock, and, well, still is a shock, and probably will remain a shock for some time to come but… Payson, never question whether being honest with me is the right thing, because it _always_ will be. Did that make any sense?"

"Kinda," Payson gives a nervous smile. "You said shock at lot, which I know it must have been, and i'm sorry. Is there…" she pauses, biting her lip, really not wanting to ask but feeling she has to repay her mom's honesty with some kind of gesture. "Is there anything you want to know?" She tries to turn her grimace into a smile and lands somewhere in between.

"Is there anything I want to know," Kim repeats, a smidgen of hysteria in the attempt at a laugh as she gulps down a mouthful of coffee. "There are a few things, yeah."

Payson channels her concentration into dropping her rapidly thudding heartbeat to a rate that her stationary position justifies.

"Let's start with… Okay, how about…" Her mom is directing these aborted questions to her coffee. Payson waits it out, fingers absentmindedly ripping her protein bar into crumbs.

"Right," Kim settles on an angle, and looks at Payson. "Now, there's no accusation in this but...that video of you and Sasha that Lauren found…"

"That happened exactly like we told you," Payson jumps in. "I was totally to blame for that. Nothing was going on then, I swear."

This is what she was scared of, that people would see her as a liar for claiming that the kiss caught on the training camera had been totally innocent.

"Alright sweetheart, I believe you." Kim squeezes Payson's crumb coated fingers and there's a moment's respite as they both reach for napkins and share a smile, but it is only a moment.

"So…" Kim frown is searching. "When did things change?"

Payson has been rehearsing this answer ever since she and Sasha decided that being honest with her family was their only realistic option. She takes a breath, tries to remember the order of events she'd listed, the reasons she'd analysed and ranked.

"Well." Payson arms creep across her chest, nails scratching the bare skin just below her training tee sleeves. "It kind of really started after the whole training camera thing, and us leaving the Rock, which is kind of ironic if you think ab…" She stops herself, bites her lip, scolds her blithering and starts again.

"After World Trials, when Sasha agreed to a one month trial period for us training at Pikes, it was...different. I mean, ok, so I'd started getting to know him as just Sasha instead of 'Coach Belov," she quotation marks her fingers, "when he was helping me get back from my surgery. I mean, like at my ballet class when he showed up in those ridiculous tights? And the ballet show he took me to? It was like hanging out with a friend. I never had to worry about talking too much about gymnastics and boring him like I do with everyone else. And he always seemed responsive to my opinions on my routines instead of being all 'just follow orders, Keeler'".

She stops again. "Am I making any sense? I'm not making any sense," she answers before Kim can say anything, talking faster.

"So we were training for World Trials and I was thinking, this is so great, i'm friends with my coach, this is gonna make my life easier, and then I was a total idiot and kissed him and messed everything up, because hey, when you're gonna randomly kiss your coach and scare the hell out of him, why not capture it on a videotape that your blabbermouth teammate can find and distribute?"

Payson sits forward in her chair and puts her elbows on the cup stained formica.

"I thought, that's it, there's no way he's gonna stick around. But then he shows up in our street with his trailer and says, okay, one month, we'll try it at Pikes and see how it goes. So i'm like, right, Payson, do not screw this up again, let's be professional and mature and show him he's not made a mistake in picking you to train. But…" One fist clenched hand is wrapped in the other and Payson doesn't seem to notice when Kim reaches out and eases her fingers apart. "But I screw up again don't I?" She feels the first burn of tears.

"It's just." She looks at her mom for the first time. "It was so easy with him, mom. And so much fun. He made me laugh and - God knows how - but I made him laugh? Even though I must be the most boring person to be around. Like, who wants to talk about gymnastics 24/7 other than boring Payson Keeler?"

"Who ever said that?" Kim cuts in.

"Lauren, Kaylie, people at high school, anyone at the Rock." Payson rattles off a list. "Even if they never said it, I know they thought it. But Sasha? He made me feel like I was fun to be with. Like I don't have to be lonely to do what I love." She squeezes her mom's hand. "And I know you and dad have always supported me, it's just…" Tears start to sprinkle her cheeks.

"It's different with your parents," Kim answers and Payson nods, head bowed.

"I…" She sniffs, fights for control of her voice. "I never meant to fall for him, mom. But I...I couldn't stop myself. And maybe that makes me weak. Maybe I should have let him go after that trial month, but I just...I didn't want him not to be there. Selfish, right?"

Kim pulls her chair round the table, slips an arm around her daughter when she see's how much Payson is shaking. "You are not selfish, Payson, and you are not boring, so don't you ever let me hear you call yourself that again."

"I..." Payson feels her lip trembling and bites it hard. "I never...I never expected that he could love me back."

The tears are silent, and Kim uses her body to block anyone from seeing Payson's face.

It takes a while for Payson to get her breathing under control but eventually her throat loosens enough to speak again.

"Nothing happened. I mean, stuff did happen but...nothing serious happened until the night of the Tanner's party for the National Team. After Ellen Beal's showed up and said such terrible things about him, Sasha left and I followed him to the Rock." Payson is hugging herself, nails pressing half moons into her bare arms.

Kim blows the air out of her cheeks. "Your father and I never did get round to asking why you were in that car, did we?"

Payson tips her head onto her mom's shoulder. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before but...I came so close to losing him in that crash...I couldn't risk losing him again."

Two customers embroiled in a loud debate over who is to blame for losing a car key pass the table. Payson and Kim wait for their chatter to fade.

"I really do love him, mom." Payson's voice is a little stronger. "It's not infatuation or puppy love or Stockholm Syndrome…"

"Stockholm Syndrome?"

"I may have googled."

"Of course you did." Kim closes her eyes and kisses her daughter's forehead.

"And I know he's had problems in the past that he's still dealing with." Payson sniffs back the tears, working her way back to her list. "But he loves me, and he trusts me, and he respects me, and I feel the same way about him, and everything else we'll just have to figure out as we go."

As they sit quietly, letting the emotion drain gently, knowing that Payson has to be at the last team training session before tomorrow's final in fifteen minutes, Kim cannot bring herself to tell her daughter that it's not the veracity of Payson's feelings she's worried about.

* * *

After a quick face check in the Starbucks bathroom mirror (slightly flushed, no obvious tear stains) and a quick hug with her mom (as tight as that they shared at the hospital the night of the crash), Payson hurries across the street, dragging her hair into a ponytail as she sidesteps gridlocked traffic.

The team credentials that have been hanging from a lanyard around her neck almost permanently since they got to Rio get her past the first layer of security at the arena entrance quickly, but she has to wait, jigging up and down on her toes, for her gym bag to be searched before she is allowed through the next set of doors marked 'officials only'.

Despite her frustration at the delay, Payson flashes a smile and a "thank you" to the guard who passes her bag back and swipes her through the double doors. She's less able to tolerate her annoyance when she immediately get's stuck behind a gaggle of corridor dawdlers that no amount of 'excuse me's' and pointed coughs can disintegrate.

When they finally veer off in the other direction at an intersection of hallways, Payson puts on a sprint and is relieved to see Hayley just disappearing into the training hall as she rounds the corner and jogs to catch the door before it shuts.

"Hi." She offers a breathless greeting to Hayley's "s'up" as the pair hurry over to the impromptu changing area that Kelly has appropriated round the water cooler.

"No search party needed then," Kelly says, seated on a fold out chair, adjusting the tight strap on her ankle.

"I'm not late," Payson defends, glancing at the wall clock as it just clicks through the hour.

"You're not early, which I thought meant you were dead in a ditch somewhere".

"You worried about me, Parker?" Payson smirks, stripping off her track pants and t-shirt, her training leo already on underneath. There's a slight note of post-crying euphoria to her tone so she deliberately regulates her breathing as she pulls her leg up for a quad stretch.

"Only that I'd get stuck having to cope with _that_ by myself." Kelly gestures a disparaging finger in the direction of the nearest training mat, where Beth is walking on her hands and whistling the grand old duke of York.

Payson smiles at Kelly's feigned grumpiness. "Don't pretend Toto isn't melting your tin man heart."

"That's it," Kelly announces, standing quickly. "If anyone wants me, I'll be throwing myself off the big Jesus statue, hoping I land on something pointy".

"And you call Lauren a drama queen." Payson slings an arm around Kelly's shoulders, steering them both to where Marcus has gathered the rest of the team.

"What drugs are you on?" Kelly frowns at Payson's smile. "'Cause if Drea gave you her stash it's rude not to share."

"Ha ha." Payson drops her voice. "Thanks again for staying with Beth last night."

They hadn't really had the opportunity to discuss the previous evening before the men's team final earlier.

"How's your mom?" Is all Kelly will venture, seeing as they're still in company.

Payson nods, swallowing down emotion that she thought she'd got under control in the Starbucks' bathroom. "Dealing. I think."

"And you?"

Payson doesn't joke off the concern this time. "Dealing?" She considers. "Relieved I've told her".

Kelly pats Payson's hand lightly then makes a big show of shrugging off Payson's arm in apparent disgust at the physical contact. Beth, falling off her hands beside them, giggles.

"Ladies," Marcus raises his voice, calling them to attention. "I won't keep you. I realise time is precious."

"How insightful," Kelly mutters and gets elbowed by Payson.

"As you were all informed by email this morning, Coach Belov has been relieved of his duties after failing to obtain medical clearance. Coach Walsh has taken over his role for the remainder of the championship. A statement detailing these changes has already been released to the press.

"Also, I'll take this opportunity to advise you all that I will be the primary point of contact for the NGO as Ellen Beals has been called back to the States. I hope this will put an end to some of the confusion of recent days."

Tamping down on the ire sparked by the cold nature of Marcus' dismissal of Sasha, Payson focuses on the second part of his statement. It's certainly a relief that neither she nor Sasha will have any more run ins with Ellen Beals at the hotel, but she wonders what lead to the sudden departure, since Ellen and Marcus seemed a well oiled double act when she encountered them last night.

Payson wants to text Sasha to see if he knows about Ellen leaving, but her phone is in her bag and, despite a quick acknowledgement of his message this morning, she's resisted the urge to text again, knowing how much he needs to sleep.

"...capable hands of Coach Walsh." Marcus finishes his brief speech, and shakes the proffered hand as Marty steps forward. He gifts a acknowledging nod toward the ringed gymnasts before stepping away, cell returning to its usual place against his ear.

"We have less than 24 hours. I hope you're ready to work," Marty says, without preamble.

Succinct and determined, Payson approves enough of Marty's introduction that her, "yes, Coach" - spoken in unison with the rest of the team - is not just lip service.

"Kelly, if you could go warm up for bars, Chris will be right over. Hayley? Jules is gonna run through some of your beam connections". The two girls jog off toward their instructed apparatus, Kelly lightly favouring her ankle. Payson wonders if the cortisone is wearing off and the pain is worse, or if the joint is becoming more unstable.

"You three I want to start on vault." Marty flicks through the pages on his clipboard then eyes Payson, Lauren, and Beth. "There are some changes we need to make".

And with that pronouncement, Payson's tacit approval of her former - and now present - coach evaporates.

"Changes?" She says it quietly, deliberately avoiding the antagonistic "we qualified in first place - why the hell do you think you need to make changes?" she wants to snap.

"For you and Beth," Marty says, tapping his pen against the clipboard, a habit Payson knows indicates they are testing his patience, but gone are the days she courted Marty Walsh's approval.

"What do..."

Lauren interrupts, preening, "but _my_ DTY is perfect, right? Fabulous".

She trots over to the vault runway, where Darby is waiting to help adjust the springboard to their individually varying distances.

"Payson? You'll be doing your full. I don't want you risking the 1.5." Marty looks at her, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"But I'm there with my 1.5. You've seen me," Payson says, forcibly calm.

"I saw you land it on your knees yesterday."

He's not wrong, but Payson can't exactly explain that her distraction was because of her mom's sudden appearance and that she was scared Sasha was set to pass out from pain any moment.

"I landed it fine in quali. And I can run it for you now?" she suggests, even as Marty is shaking his head and walking to the vault table.

"The decision is the full, okay?" Marty retorts, as Payson and Beth join him. "And Beth, you'll be doing your Amanar."

At that, Payson has to turn away. She didn't realise how accustomed she's become to the communicative coaching rapport she's built up with Sasha. Blind acceptance to orders no longer comes easy. Especially when they're bad orders that mean dropping the d-scores for two gymnasts on the highest scoring apparatus.

"You want me to do an Amanar?" Beth is peering up at Marty with a confused frown.

"Yes," Marty scribbles something on his clipboard, flicking his attention between it and the tiny gymnast.

"But I can do a Produnova."

"I'm aware of that. Lauren? You set?" Marty calls over his shoulder.

Beth is still frowning at him. "But a Produnova's a 7.1 start value and the Amanar's a 6.5."

"I know," Marty snaps. "Lauren, start with with a 1.5 yurchenko." He strides over to the landing mat to get a better view even though Lauren is only part way through her warm up.

Payson follows, lightly steering Beth off the runway because the girl is still looking at Marty like he's a completed jigsaw puzzle that doesn't match the box.

"So why don't you want me to do the Produnova?" Beth pushes.

"Because I want you to do the Amanar," Marty shoots back.

Payson sucks in a deep breath. This is typical Marty. Trying to stamp his authority and digging his heels in deeper when his judgement is challenged.

"But Sasha wanted me to do the Produnova. He wrote it on my card."

"Well, I'm not Sasha." But Marty is speaking to empty air; Beth is already running over to her bag to fetch her index cards.

"We're focusing on execution not difficulty," Marty says to Payson, for a moment sounding like he wants reassurance for his choice.

It's an opening for a discussion, but before Payson can take the opportunity, Lauren calls from the end of the runway.

"Ready, Coach!"

Immediately, Marty's resolve hardens. "Execution over difficulty. I want that full perfect," he fires at Payson before turning his attention to Lauren.

"Yes, Coach," Payson mutters, allowing only a few seconds of mutinous anger, a few seconds of missing Sasha's presence so much it hurts, before she forces down all emotion, and turns her focus to warming up to do her already perfected round off, half on, layout full.

* * *

If asked, Payson would describe her session as solid. Her piked Jaeger isn't provoking any back spasms, her aerial to wolf jump is smoother, and her double arabian to sissone is sticking consistently. In her own mind, she is ready for tomorrow's final. And in her own mind is where she is forcing herself to stay.

She's never minded the RoboPayson moniker - unless Lauren was deliberately using it to provoke - and today she's grateful for the persona since, without it, she's sure the focus this dangerous sport demands would prove impossible for her to maintain.

After refilling her bottle at the water cooler, she looks pointedly at the lazily spinning ceiling fan rather than at Lauren practicing her upgraded bars routine instead of the simpler version she will be using tomorrow. Marty has already shown he has no interest in Payson's opinion of his coaching tactics so she's blocking them out completely.

She towels off her sweaty arms and hands and drops to a free mat in her first warm down stretch. Hayley and Beth soon join her, Hayley chattering away while Beth rearranges her index cards again, trying to adjust to a change of coach and a change in routine in the same day.

A minibus is booked to take them back to the hotel. Finished first, Payson pulls on her track pants - she'll shower at the hotel - scoops up her bag and sits on a fold out chair to wait, using the wall it rests against to support her straight back.

No text from Sasha when she checks her phone, but there is one from Kaylie asking her to meet for a drink that evening. Payson confirms after a few seconds consideration, then pushes away mental debate as to what Kaylie wants to talk about, instead visualising all her routines behind closed eyes.

When Steve Tanner's obnoxiously vibrant greeting rings through the hall, Payson is halfway through her mental beam routine, hands absentmindedly miming the positions, and she forces herself to finish, not opening her eyes until her dismount has connected perfectly with the imagined mat.

When she allows herself to look, Payson absorbs the scene taking place across the hall with dread tinged suspicion. Marty is pulling a sheaf of paper out of an envelope Payson certainly hadn't seen him with before and, giving it a cursory glance, nods to Steve, if possible upping Steve's satisfactory grin wattage by at least a hundred. Lauren, bouncing over with Darby, notes the expression on her father's face and immediately claps her hands together in glee.

"You signed?"

Any confirmation Marty was set to provide is buried in the braid of Lauren's hair as she hugs him with joyful enthusiasm. He looks a trifle dazed after Lauren releases her grip, but his own smile soon reappears as Lauren, hooking one arm through his and the other through Darby's, twinkles a satisfied row of teeth at her father.

"Go Team Rock!" Lauren's exclamation is not a shout, but USA are the only team currently in the training hall so there is no background thud of tumbles or clatter of bars to mask the revelation.

Payson, suspicion dawning into realisation, immediately looks at Kelly, who is sitting a few chairs along, hands frozen in the process of unwrapping her ankle. The expression of absolute shock her friend is wearing tells Payson that Marty's apparent defection from Denver Elite to The Rock is news to her too.


	45. Chapter 45

**CHAPTER FORTY FIVE**

The soothing effect of a hot shower is a gift Payson will never fail to appreciate. Still, even the long minutes spent beneath the cascading water cannot entirely remove the fresh tension that's lodged itself in her shoulders.

Marty, on realising how far Lauren's words carried, had tried to talk to Kelly in the training hall, but she had shaken his hand from her arm with such virulence that he had backed off immediately. She had refused to say a word on the ride back to the hotel and Lauren, obviously under instructions from Steve or Marty - or both - was equally as silent.

There had been no argument as to who got first shower; Kelly thundered into the room, hurled her gym bag against the balcony window, and slammed the bathroom door so hard the extra large bottle of hairspray sitting on the dresser clattered to the carpet.

Suspecting privacy was what Kelly needed, Payson briefly considered going to check on Sasha, but she had to grab some food before meeting Kaylie, and didn't want to wake him up just to leave again. So she tidied her already immaculate side of the room, ensuring her eyes were studying the content of her rail in the wardrobe when Kelly stalked out of the bathroom.

Unsurprisingly, Kelly is not there when Payson is done with her shower.

Deliberately careful in every movement - now is not the time to tweak a neck muscle or roll an ankle - Payson dresses in jeans and a white short-sleeved tee, toes on a pair of sneakers and heads down to the hotel's canteen style restaurant which has been made available at all hours for the gymnasts staying at the hotel.

She opts for an empty table running flush to the outer wall, ignoring the looks she gets from the other gymnasts for eating alone. If the blogs want to make something out of the entire US team not eating together as Russia has done for every single meal - Ivanka always positioned at the head of the line as they enter the canteen - Payson is past caring.

Checking her watch and realising she's going to be late unless she bolts her dinner, which she won't because indigestion could disrupt her sleep, Payson texts Kaylie asking if they can relocate. The canteen is just round the corner from the bar Kaylie suggested meeting in, and if her display at today's team final is any indication, Kaylie isn't exactly in Rio incognito.

Sure enough, Kaylie is all smiles as she enters the canteen, and waves when she spots Payson, threading her way through the tables and chairs.

"Sorry to be a pain," Payson says, standing to meet her with a hug.

"Don't even." Kaylie waves away the apology and takes the seat opposite Payson. "Your schedule must be insane right now."

Payson, mouth full of food, nods and rolls her eyes. "Completely," she agrees, once she's swallowed.

Up close, Kaylie is looking back to full health, bright colour in cheeks which are no longer split in two by skeletal bones pressing too close to the skin. She's perched on the edge of the chair, folded arms propped on the table, the picture of energy. Payson is at least glad the bruises around her eyes that were so prominent the last time she saw Kaylie at the hospital have nearly gone, although she suspects the bags under her eyes mean she still looks far older than the two months that seperate her and Kaylie's birthdays.

"So you got an earlier flight." Payson states the obvious to give Kaylie the opening she so clearly wants.

"Yeah, I wanted to surprise Austin." Kaylie's practically bouncing in her seat. "The flight was supposed to get in first thing but we had a delayed connection and, oh my god, I thought I was going to miss the final completely. But…" She finishes with a beaming smile that relays her joy of getting to see Austin perform more than any words could.

"He did really good," Payson enthuses, sipping at her water.

Kaylie laughs. "It's okay, Pay, you don't have to pretend."

"I'm not," Payson wipes her mouth, eyes wide. "Austin hit everything. It's just…" she trails off, flapping a hand.

"The rest of the team choked like someone put plastic bags over their heads?" Kaylie fills in and the girls share a laugh that garners some looks from the Japanese team eating a few tables over.

"Which is so not what we're gonna do tomorrow, right?" Kaylie chirrups then pales and corrects. "You. I mean, what _you_ guys are gonna do tomorrow." She picks at the sleeve of her hoodie as she starts to babble questions she doesn't pause to await an answer to. "So are you all set? How was training? Lo, said…"

"Kaylie?" Payson concentrates on slicing through an already bite sized piece of fish. She hasn't got time to figure out if she should be telling Kaylie this so she just starts talking.

"Austin may have mentioned something to me when we first got here about how you were maybe rethinking your decision to retire? I don't know if you know that he did, and I don't want to cause any problems between you. He didn't tell me anything definite, he was just worried about you and wanted my viewpoint and…"

This time it's Kaylie who interrupts.

"Don't worry, Pay. He told me he talked to you. And it's fine. And…" She draws a breath to steady herself. "It's true."

"You're rethinking your decision to retire?"

"I've rethought it," Kaylie huffs a self-conscious laugh, "if that's a word. Pay, I've decided I'm not gonna retire; I want to compete again; I want to give my career another shot."

The last fork full of brown rice allows Payson the excuse not to reply immediately.

"What do you think?" Kaylie prompts, nervously. She's leaning so far over the table Payson's worried her loose hair is going to dangle in the plate's sauce residue.

"I think," Payson begins, stacking her plate and tray at the side of the table, "that what I think doesn't matter. It's what you think."

Kaylie, open features never able to conceal much, droops slightly, a little crestfallen.

"What I mean is," Payson chastises her own ineptitude when it comes to this kind of conversation. "This is definitely what you want? No one's pushing you into it? I mean," she winces preemptively. "I saw that your dad was here?"

"Ohhhh." Kaylie starts to smile again, recognising what Payson is worried about. "I swear this is all me, my decision, my choice. Dad and I have talked a lot. Like a lot a lot." She chuckles, widening her eyes for emphasis. "We've done some family counselling too and he has been so great at understanding, him and mom both. It was hard at first and there was some yelling and some crying, but now? He gets that for the management thing to work, we have to have communication and in the end it's me who says what I do and what I don't. And I want to do gymnastics. I have missed it so much."

The empathetic relief and happiness that flushes through Payson is nothing but honest. "That's really great, Kaylie. I'm really happy for you." She reaches over the table to give Kaylie's hand a squeeze.

"And," Kaylie pushes Payson's palm flat so they can high five, "it means we get to be teammates again!"

And suddenly the simplicity of sharing Kaylie's joy is tarnished and Kaylie doesn't miss the sharp alteration of her friend's previously calm demeanour.

"What's going on, Pay?" she asks, very gentle, careful to keep her voice low. "Lo said…"

"Lo said what?" Payson knows a brittle edge has crept into her voice.

Kaylie bites her lower lip and looks at the table, continuing slowly and, Payson suspects, watering down Lauren's language.

"She said that you haven't been very supportive over her being in the all around...and...that you were besties with Kelly Parker all of a sudden and haven't been exactly friendly to Darby? And…" Kaylie hesitates but Payson waits. "And she mentioned something about you not wanting Sasha and Summer to get back together, which, I think she's over that idea now anyway, but...she was hurt that you wouldn't help."

It's a comprehensive list of accusations and, as Payson goes through each one, she realises that from Lauren's point of view they are all fairly accurate.

"You guys were so tight before Worlds." Kaylie dips her head, trying to catch Payson's eyeline. "What happened?"

If it had been anyone but Sasha, Payson imagines that she might confide in Kaylie now, trust that Kaylie would use the experience of her relationship with Austin as a basis of understanding for what Payson's been going through. _But_ , Payson thinks as her eyes briefly close, _it never would have been anyone but Sasha_.

"Things have been really complicated, Kaylie." Payson picks at her fingernails, hating that for seemingly the hundredth time today she has to force tears from her throat. "With the crash and then Drea, and then that crappy podium training session and the stuff with Kelly's ankle, but…I never intended to hurt Lauren. I would never intentionally do that."

She tries to hold Kaylie's gaze, but awkwardness has Payson reaching for her water glass and sipping slowly a mouthful she would usually have gulped. The tinny muzak loitering through the canteen seems suddenly too loud.

"How's Sasha doing?" Kaylie finally breaks the silence and Payson doesn't think she's being paranoid in hearing a veil of coldness slightly wither Kaylie's previously sunny tone.

"He's pretty beat up. He really pushed himself to get us all here."

Payson remembers calling Kaylie and Lauren her sisters at the Spruce Juice the day Emily's pregnancy was revealed. _But you don't treat family they way I've been treating them, do you?_

"It's a shame he's not going to be at the Rock. I know Austin was looking forward to working with him again." Kaylie sits back a little in her chair, folds her arms.

Payson tries to remember a time she truly trusted either of her original Rock teammates with a confidence. She finds nothing. If she gifted that trust now, would it solidify a long friendship she feels is fast slipping away?

"Did Lauren say why her dad fired him?" Payson asks, feeling very far away.

Kaylie shrugs. "Something about his contract only being temporary anyway? That Steve was always planning to reboot the Rock after Worlds by signing Marty as head." Kaylie watches Payson, deliberate in the casual nature of how she drops Marty's name. "He's signed Darby too, as an assistant coach. Lauren wasn't supposed to say anything until Steve drafted a press release but she kinda figured you guys realised what was going on at training."

So Payson's supposition had been right, Steve's signed Marty as Sasha's replacement at the Rock.

"So we're back where we started," Payson murmurs.

"We could be." Kaylie jumps on the opening, leaning over the table again to grab both of Payson's hands. "You, me, and Lauren at the Rock; Marty coaching us to the Olympics. Pay, it could be just like before, only better because we're all so much stronger now."

There's a plea in Kaylie's eyes, and, god, it would be so simple to just return her imploring grip, to shrink back into that single-minded focus where the only future was the next competition, fall back into the bickering camaraderie of 'The Rock Three'. But, even as the temptation spins across Payson's mind, she knows that brief lust for easy nostalgia can never take them back to where they were, to before her injury, to before Sasha Belov walked into her life.

"Did you see that you and Austin are a meme?" Payson has to huff down a surge of tears but she forces the joke that Kaylie will have to decipher as answer enough because she cannot do this right now.

Kaylie withdraws her hand slowly, but there is loss in her face, not anger, as she sits back in her chair and feels the invisible wall slide down between herself and her - definitely - former teammate.

"Crazy, huh?" Kaylie blinks back her own tears, allowing that she will shed them later for a friendship that will never be the same again rather than now, because she has never seen Payson this close to breaking point. "I've faved a bunch on twitter. Wanna see?"

Kaylie pulls out her phone to cue up the various annotated photos of Austin catching her blown kiss at the team final, and pretends she doesn't see how much Payson is shaking.

* * *

Payson stares vacantly at the red numbers ticking rapidly down on the elevator's digital display, a numbness in the fatigue that is biting every nerve ending. It takes the cough of a friendly looking middle-aged couple waiting for the same car to alert her to the doors sliding open, and she shoots them what she hopes is a grateful smile as she steps into the empty elevator.

Kaylie had broken up their twitter recap, explaining that she had to meet Austin and Lauren. She had asked if Payson wanted to join them, perhaps one last effort at piecing back what they once were. Payson had declined, not being able to offer her own explanation that she was going to meet Sasha. She'd nearly been undone when Kaylie had pulled her into a tight hug, affirming "you'll do great tomorrow, Pay," and then hurried away without looking back.

The friendly couple exit on the fifth floor and when Payson arrives at the thirteenth, she is glad they don't have to witness what greets her.

"I was going to tell you!"

"Yeah, tell me not ask me!"

Kelly is fighting to get the door keycard to work and Marty is standing behind her. Both their faces are flushed red. Neither of them register the ding of the elevator bell or, that when it moves on, it has left a person behind.

"You've been training at the Rock these past weeks anyway. You like it there!" Marty implores, reaching to take the keycard from Kelly's shaking fingers.

Kelly slaps him aside. "So you figured you didn't even have to consult me?" She shoves the card hard into the door handle slot but the light remains red. "You just assumed I'd follow you like some mindless lemming?"

"That's not what I meant." Marty runs a frustrated hand through his hair.

"No, I get it, Coach." Kelly abandons the door handle and whips round, her five foot frame bearing down on the much taller man. "DE was just a dog house for you, wasn't it? Somewhere to wait until Steve Tanner whistled to say you were allowed back into the main house."

"Kelly." Marty has no follow up to the name; he can't counter what is pretty much the truth.

"My fault really." Kelly turns back to the room door and Payson flinches at the sound of tears beginning to spatter her voice. "For being stupid enough to think you actually cared about me."

"I do care about you! You were part of the agreement. I made it very clear that you transferring to the Rock with me was a deal breaker!"

"But you still didn't ASK ME!" Kelly screams the last words and Marty can guess as well as Payson how many times Kelly must have directed those words to her mother.

"I'm sorry!" Marty tries but Kelly has finally got the door to cooperate. She shoulders it open, then turns to offer him a final retort, and Payson would give anything for Kelly's eyes not to land right on her instead.

The raw pain that pulses through Kelly's bloodshot eyes, through the veins straining her scarlet forehead, has Payson stepping forward, ready to catch her when the tears surely shatter her ability to remain standing, but Kelly flees instead, slamming the room door behind her.

Payson doesn't move to follow. Perhaps it justifies Lauren's theory of how incapable she is of true friendship, but Payson just does not have the strength to walk through that door.

"I never…" Marty is looking at her, helpless, his lip trembling as he searches for words to correct the bad decisions he seems incapable of avoiding. "I didn't…"

But Payson can't provide the answers he's seeking. She stares at the carpet, wishing for him to go. A few moments and his footsteps pound up the corridor and round the corner. The ding of the floor's other elevator resounds soon after.

Payson remains staring at the carpet, pitching one foot slowly in front of the other, until Sasha's room door stops her progress.

* * *

The light knock stirs Sasha from the semi-slumber he's been indulging the past few hours, propped up in the room's high back chair. He allows a groan as he tips forward, using the chair arms as leverage to get him to his feet. He slept most of the day away in bed, but knowing Payson would come by at some point tonight, he moved to the chair, so as not to leave her standing in the hallway for the five minutes it would take to maneuver himself off the mattress.

A quipped apology for his lack of attire - he's naked apart from baggy grey sweat shorts - is prepared as Sasha pulls the door open, but Payson walks straight into his arms and her obvious shaking as his embrace automatically tightens around her changes the greeting.

"Hey, what's happened?" He toes the door into its frame and flicks the lock.

Payson's only response is to press her face into his chest and Sasha feels her stilted sobs, tears wet on her cheeks. Her arms are slung tight round his hips but her hands are clasping his waistband, all her grip being directed into clutching the fabric rather than squeezing his body, and her concern for his injury rather than her own need makes him think, for the thousandth time, how unbelievably lucky he is.

"S'okay," he murmurs, good hand lightly stroking her head, casted arm anchoring her to him as close as he is able. "You don't have to talk."

Sasha's uncertain as to whether that was the right thing to say because Payson suddenly chokes out a louder series of sobs and presses her face harder against his sternum. Sasha grits through the stab of pain without flinching.

"S'okay," he breathes again, pushing some kisses into her hair and then simply holding her. It sounds like she is fighting to keep the sobs silent because she clenches in anger every time her need to breathe means a wracked huff of pain escapes her throat.

Sasha doesn't try to move her, he'll stand here all night if necessary, but Payson will never retire from a fight, even if it's against her own body. Soon, the rattling convulsions start to ebb and, after a few deep sighs, Payson draws away a little, enough so she can look up at him.

Her skin is splotchy, and her bloodshot green eyes flit away every time she meets his gaze. Shreds of hair have been pulled loose from her ponytail and she tucks them aside, before self-consciously swiping at her nose, one shoulder hitching in an almost apologetic shrug.

Sasha, gaze never wavering, gently frames her face, palms resting on her hot cheeks, thumbs stroking slowly up and down her neck. Biting her upper lip, Payson reaches with both hands and clutches Sasha's wrists, gripping skin and cast, as she musters the strength to look at him properly.

"Hey," she whispers, voice tear-hoarse.

"Hey," Sasha rumbles, placing a careful kiss to her forehead.

Her eyes flicker shut, remain so for a moment while he watches her breathe.

"Come on," he says quietly, peeling her hand from his wrist so he can entwine their fingers and lead her to the bathroom. She follows without protest.

He positions her in front of the sink, flicks on the tap and hands her a washcloth. Standing behind her, hands resting on her hips, he watches her in the wall mirror as she dampens the cloth and carefully cleans her face.

When she reaches up to redo her ponytail, Sasha stills her hands, gently pulls the band from her hair and sets about gathering the strands to fasten at the bottom of her neck. When he darts a look at Payson's reflection while he works, her eyes are closed and her expression is relaxed.

"How're you feeling?" It's nowhere near her usual confident voice, but it's absent of tears.

"Glad I never pursued a career as a hairdresser." He dips a kiss to her neck, then grins at her reflection.

Payson moves her head side to side in examination. "I've seen worse," she concludes, twisting to kiss his stubbled jaw.

"If I ever run for office, I can use that as my bumper sticker. Sasha Belov: You've Seen Worse."

There's no laugh, but the beginnings of a smile tugs at Payson's lip. Sasha will take it.

"Lie down?" he suggests and Payson sighs relieved acquiescence.

As she kicks off her sneakers and settles on the far side of the mattress, tucking her knees up to her chest, Sasha twists the dimmer on the main light, dropping the bulb to a soothing hue.

His is certainly not as elegant a movement as Payson's, but he manages to lie down beside her without cursing; not on his side - his ribs put a quick stop to that idea - but weighted in her direction, so she can snuggle into him, and he can rest his jaw on her forehead, hoping she doesn't mind the slight scratch of his scar tissue.

"So Jake just prescribed rest?" Payson dusts her fingers over Sasha's abs, over the purples and greens still punctuated by too much red.

"Yup," Sasha nods through what he wrote in his text to Payson after Jake's examination. "Also that it's probably not a great idea to get into fights when you've already got cracked ribs." He gestures in the vague direction of his slightly swollen cheek.

"You didn't tell him you got attacked by my mom, then?"

"Should've done. He knows your mom; I would've got more sympathy." Sasha leaves off questioning how Payson's chat with her mom went earlier; he doesn't want to push her to give information if she's not ready. "He also said I shouldn't travel for a few days. Think he threw that in 'cause he thought the NGO might repossess my room."

Payson makes no verbal response, but her face clouds.

"What's done is done," Sasha whispers, kissing her earlobe.

"I know, but…" she swallows hard, scritching her nail along Sasha's cast as if trying to wear it through.

"But?" Sasha coaching senses suspect Payson wants to be prompted this time.

"But, it's just..." She releases a massive sigh and throws herself on her back, slamming the heels of her palms into her eyes. "Just when I think that we're there, that we've dealt with all the issues and I can finally concentrate on my performance, someone else throws more shit at the fan. Like today." She flips back onto her stomach, props up on her elbows so her hands are free to gesture. "We've told Mom, Mom knows about us, and, yeah, she isn't exactly happy about it, but it's not like she reacted by, I don't know…"

"Nailing my testicles to the wall?" Sasha supplies, quite proud he can relay the threat without wincing.

"Right," Payson points an approving finger at Sasha. "She didn't kill you, or me, or MJ. And I know it's not that simple, and we've got a ton of stuff to work out, but it was so nice to just be able to talk to her earlier without having to hide anything or worry about what was coming out of my mouth. And then…"

"And then…" Sasha prompts again when Payson trails off and just stares at the pillow their position has mashed against the headboard.

"And then everything just exploded again," she groans, face rumpling as she twists to huddle against Sasha's side, gathering her hands under her chin and allowing his arm to wrap around her body. He rubs circles on her jeaned thighs as she tries to hide her face in his chest.

"Did you see Kaylie showed up at the final?" Her question tickles his skin.

"I did." Sasha eases one of Payson's tight fists from under her chin, unfurls it out so she can play with his fingers rather than strain the skin of her knuckle joints.

"Well, it wasn't just to see Austin. She wants back in gymnastics," Payson sighs, flicking the pads of each of Sasha's fingers.

"Alex Cruz certainly doesn't let the grass grow."

"Not a bad photo op, huh?" Payson agrees, thinking of how much traction Kaylie has received at these championships after only being in the country for a few hours. And her comeback hasn't even been announced yet.

"It's definitely her decision?" Sasha will always primarily blame himself for not picking up on Kaylie's eating disorder, but he knows her parents were also mistaken in putting their daughter's career before her health. He rests a little easier when Payson nods emphatically.

"It's all her. I've never seen her so pumped about gymnastics before. Whether it lasts or not…" Payson shrugs her eyebrows and Sasha understands; Kaylie's inability to maintain driven focus on a particular aim for more than short bursts was her most aggravating trait for a coach.

"I'm really happy she's doing so well," Payson continues, "but then she started on about how it's a chance for us to hit some kind of reset button and go back to how things were with me and her and Lo training together. And, Jesus, couldn't Marty have at least consulted Kelly before he signed with Steve? I know he cares about her and didn't do it deliberately but her mom was _so_ controlling that Kelly had to freakin' divorce her. Did he not think that him being all, "okay, Kel, pack your stuff we're moving to the Rock and'….oh shit!"

Payson scrabbles to sit up. Her eyes are frozen wide as she stares down at Sasha.

"You didn't know, did you? Crap, crap, crap!" She grimaces, annoyance at herself so painful that Sasha starts to sit up too.

"Hey, don't worry." He pauses to shuffle back against the headboard, Payson hastily arranging pillows as she kneels next to him.

"What do you mean don't worry? You get fired from two jobs in one day and Marty gets signed as replacement for both of them and I just drop it into conversation?" If possible, her eyes flare even wider. "And that was so not a good way to phrase any of that. Dammit!" Payson slumps her face into the nearest pillow.

"Don't worry," Sasha repeats, peeling Payson's chin away from the fabric and kissing her apologetic pout. "No, I hadn't heard it was a done deal, but I pretty much expected Tanner to offer Marty the Rock."

"You're not just saying that?" Payson sits back on her ankles and crinkles her nose at him.

"Scout's honour."

"You were a boy scout?" Payson eyes narrow in suspicion.

Sasha pauses. "Briefly." A true if not exactly thorough summary.

"Uh huh," Payson tips her head, a brief smile softening her tired face. "I think I'm gonna need photographic proof.

"Ah…" Sasha remembers a box of his mum's old photos being one of the few things he'd shipped to the States. Not that Payson needs to know about the existence or availability of such items.

Payson slides over to sit next to him, pitching her head onto his shoulder, blowing the air out of her cheeks. "So how do you feel about Marty?"

"Depends," Sasha hedges, lifting his arm to wrap round Payson's shoulder. She settles into him, closing her eyes. "How did training go today?"

"He wants to prioritise execution over difficulty, so Beth's doing an Amanar and I'm doing a full."

"Huh."

"Exactly."

A bubble of voices bob down the hallway; Sasha thinks he hears Lauren's in there somewhere.

"How's Kelly?"

Payson snuggles into him a little closer. "That time you punched Marty; was it hard?"

"Yup."

"Good."

The peace of the room lulls calmness through the air for a while and each of them start when Sasha's cell alarm pips.

"Must kill phone alarms," Payson grumps, after reaching over Sasha to grab the phone off the nightstand and hand it to him.

Sasha silences the jangling beeps, his momentary serenity extinguished. Jake has given him a comprehensive schedule for his various medications and it's time for another dose. He disentangles from Payson and stands to retrieve his empty water glass.

"I'll get it," Payson scrambles up, already on her way to the desk.

"I have to do it." Sasha pauses and softens what he knows is a defensive tone. "It's a therapy thing." He suddenly can't meet her eyes.

"Okay."

Sasha can feel Payson studying him.

"Can you...can you tell me how that works?" Payson perches on the edge of the bed, hands resting on the mattress either side of her, neither confrontational nor demanding.

Every embarassed instinct fighting to clamp his mouth shut Sasha forces away. "It's about...about being fully present when I'm taking any medication. Concentrating on each sense as I pour the water, open the pills, hold them in my hand, swallow each separately." It's supreme effort not to start this routine while he's talking to Payson, to simply stand there and admit the repercussions of his mistakes. "It's basically trying to put a barrier up to the action being automatic; make me conscious of what I'm doing."

Sasha had given Jake a quick outline of his history this morning. Humiliating though he had found the confession, he knew his triggers had all been activated and he needed to return to the strategies he'd learnt a decade back.

"How long do you have to do it for?" Payson asks.

"Jake's going to monitor me while we're in Rio. He'll restrict access to medication and he'll ask me if I've had any alcohol or other stimulants." Sasha scratches his regrowing hair. "Something that works for me is if I have to say aloud to another person what I've taken and why. Nothing like the fear of having to confess you've fallen off the wagon to bolster your willpower."

He can tell Payson is analysing each word; her forehead is furrowed as it is when they strategise new routines, break down the required elements into the tiniest pieces.

"Do you find it that difficult to stop?" She raises an apologetic hand. "I'm not being judgemental," she adds, quickly. "I just want to understand."

"I know," Sasha reassures, taking the hand to kiss and then cup between both his palms. "I want you to be able to ask me anything and I promise I'll answer, it's...just, it's not easy for me."

Payson, patient eyes fixed on him, nods and waits.

"Usually," he begins, sitting down next to her, still holding her hand, "it's not even something I really think about. It's only during times of increased stress that it becomes an issue. Suddenly, the habit pathway in my brain that tells me I need to keep going, that everything will fall apart if i'm not on point 24/7 starts itching and, if the stress gets more, screaming for me to have a drink or something stronger." He quirks a sheepish smile that is incongruous to the haunted echoes in his voice. "Never guess I'd had a lot of therapy, would you?"

"Is that the therapy you had after what happened in Strasbourg?" Payson asks, and Sasha tenses a little at those two syllables dropping from her mouth; that she should be tainted by that night even a little causes the shame in his stomach to swell.

"I did a month of inpatient therapy in the UK, then weekly sessions for six months after that, and then it was reviews from time to time and ad hoc appointments when I felt I needed them. The cognitive behavioural strategies I learned there I've been able to use in the years since if I felt myself slipping. And the only other time I've really hit the skids apart from the past few weeks was...was after Amelia."

Payson shuffles closer to him, and he grips her hand tighter.

"The guilt and the grief were just too much of a trigger, I guess." He speaks to the carpet, not daring to close his eyes because he knows he will see Amelia hitting the mat, see the reassuring smile she'd gifted him as she left the gym with her parents, see her coffin being borne down the church aisle by her broken relatives.

"It's okay." Payson's voice brings him back. She's crouching in front of him and he lets his forehead lean on hers as he fights the tremble of his lip with gritted teeth.

"You need to take your pills." The quiet reminder is a tangible action to cling to and Sasha takes it gratefully.

Payson moves quietly back to the bed, deliberately busies herself with her phone rather than scrutinise his steps. Still, Sasha views it as a good test, to be able to push aside his own shame and to truly focus on not letting the pathways carved into his mind when he was barely more than a child dictate his journey again.

It's not until he has replaced the water glass on the desk and positioned the pill case next to it, that he allows himself to again recognise Payson's presence. The patient and encouraging smile that she greets him with is a beauty he will always carry with him.

"Okay?" she checks.

Sasha nods, thinks about telling her that he's planning to go back into residential rehab for a few weeks once they get home to heal, both mentally and physically, but it's set to be a long discussion and he changes his mind when he checks the clock.

"We should sleep," Payson says, regretfully, following his eyeline. She pulls herself down to the end of the bed and rises to latch her arms round his neck.

"Yes, we should," Sasha agrees, kissing her hair. "But, as much as I would like for us both to be sleeping in my bed..."

"...it's the biggest competition of my life tomorrow…"

"...and you don't need to be woken up by me swearing like a sailor when I roll onto my arm by mistake."

They grin at each other.

"So I should go," Payson says, decrying her words by pitching to her tiptoes and anointing each of the injuries to his face with a graceful kiss.

"Yes, you should." Sasha slides a hand up her neck as he returns pecked kisses along her jaw.

"In a minute," Payson murmurs, voice vibrating against his lips.

"A minute," Sasha agrees, closing his eyes and tipping Payson's chin so he can finally kiss her as he's been wanting to all day.

* * *

It's more than a minute before Payson is jogging up the fortunately deserted hallway and keying into her own hotel room. The main lights are black, but yellow blush is illuminating a slice of carpet where Kelly has left the bathroom door ajar and that room's bulb on.

Payson appreciates the thoughtfulness as she quietly changes into her nightclothes and brushes her teeth. As she pulls back the comforter and collapses on to the mattress, her mind chatter is nagging that she should have laid out tomorrow's regulation leo and tracksuit already, should have set up the makeup she'll be using and made certain there's plenty of hairspray to ensure not a hair budges from its set position, should have completed her pre-competition checklist as she has done so many times in the past. If that weren't enough, every conversation she's had today, every confrontation she's witnessed, decides to replay too.

Perhaps though, she is learning how to focus despite being accosted on all fronts by issues trying to scatter her concentration in every direction, because, after a mere five minutes concentrated meditation, sleep takes her away.


	46. Chapter 46

**CHAPTER FORTY SIX**

 _Good Afternoon, folks, and thanks for joining us. I'm Tim Daggett, alongside Elfie Schegel, and we are broadcasting live from the sunshine city of Rio de Janeiro on women's team finals day here at the World Artistic Gymnastics Championships!_

 _And let's bring you right up to date with what's been a dramatic week so far for Team USA. As a lot of you will know, the NGO confirmed yesterday that Head Coach Sasha Belov has failed a medical examination and will not be cleared to continue this championship._

 _Even after sustaining some pretty terrible injuries in a car accident a matter of days before the championship, and then suffering the loss of Aundrea Conway to a controversial positive drugs test, he_ still _managed to lead Team USA to a first place qualification for today's final. Reports are that he's picked up a nasty stomach virus and there is no way that team doctors can, in all good conscience, deem him fit for duty._

 _Such a shame, for him and the girls. Coach Belov has really bought the best out in this team: eight event final placements, Lauren Tanner posting her best all-around score ever, Payson Keeler nailing a sensational 60.225, and young Beth Dean - who is rumoured to be a real challenge to coach - hitting a 16 flat on vault. And now he's going to be watching from the sidelines._

 _More likely from his hotel room - so a quick shout out to Coach Belov. Thank you for your service, sir, and we wish you a speedy recovery._

 _I'll second that._

 _If you're wondering exactly who will be leading out Team USA today, then all you need do is cast your mind back to Sasha Belov's predecessor. That's right, three time Olympic gold medalist Marty Walsh will once again be taking the reins._

 _Coach Walsh is certainly no stranger to these gymnasts - he is former club coach to Payson Keeler and Lauren Tanner, and current coach to Kelly Parker - but you have to wonder how much of that familiarity he will use. Will he follow the blueprint left by Sasha Belov, or will he attempt to stamp his own tactics on this team, despite a lack of preparation time?_

 _Certainly makes things interesting, doesn't it?_

 _It sure does._

 _And what else should we be expecting today?_

 _Well, in this era of social media, not much can be kept secret, and that's certainly the case when information is posted by the team members themselves. In a now deleted tweet, Lauren Tanner made it pretty obvious that she will be taking USA's second spot in the all-around competition, despite finishing third behind Kelly Parker._

 _Which tells everyone that Kelly's ankle injury is far more severe than suspected, right?_

 _Exactly. Don't expect to see Kelly Parker on the apparatus much today._

 _So the team will be relying on Payson Keeler to hit her best work and for Lauren Tanner to repeat her excellent qualification performance._

* * *

Eyes shut, Payson listens to the rushing gusts of cheers and music flowing past. Air conditioning adds a further hum, along with the mutterings of last minute preparations by her competition. Her scalp is almost painfully tight with ribbons and braids plaited by Darby and Lauren's expert fingers. She fights the urge to scratch her face. It feels like a layer of sweat has been trapped between the thick foundation and heavy eye makeup she caked on back at the hotel, as usual not understanding why such large quantities are traditional for a final. Her mouth is dry while her palms are wet. Her muscles are warm and stretched. Copper tang coats her throat. Recycled air mixes with the scent of massage gels and hairspray.

Nerves and adrenaline are advantages if used correctly, and Payson always finds that observing each sense in isolation stops her becoming overwhelmed and panicked. With a deep breath, she steels her focus, and opens her eyes.

The corridor strip lighting is momentarily blinding, reflecting off rhinestones and slick hair and bright colours, the trappings of eight teams of gymnasts lined up along clean white cinderblock. She is closest to the arena end, where the corridor turns ninety degrees and leads out to the gap in the south stand. A slight lean and she can see the camera flashes and strobe lighting dancing across the entrance way. She will be the first to walk out into that deluge.

 _Stay in the moment_ , Sasha's voice reminds, as Payson glances down at the carpet and breathes away a spike in nerves.

"Teeth check," Lauren demands, suddenly in front of her.

Needing no explanation - Payson has been on the receiving end of Lauren's last minute makeup checks many times - she parts her lips and displays two rows of apparently lipstick free teeth. Or she assumes they're lipstick free, since Lauren gives a satisfied nod and moves on to Kelly, who is standing next to Payson.

"Remember where we are," Payson warns under her breath.

Kelly and Lauren have not spoken since their fight in the corridor over Lauren's tweet.

"Don't fret. We're all teammates here." Kelly's voice curdles with disdain as she aims a viper smile at Lauren.

Lauren, face equally contorted into a parody of comradery, pretends to study Kelly's teeth.

"Do I pass?" Kelly steps away from the wall, edges a hair further than is comfortable into Lauren's space. Lauren doesn't give an inch.

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Are my teeth okay?" Hayley barges between her teammates, teeth displayed like she's expecting dental surgery.

Payson shoots Hayley a look of gratitude as Lauren finds distraction - and a stray speck of lipstick - on Hayley's enamel. Payson is fairly sure Hayley just smudged it there with her tongue.

"You ready for this?" Payson leans toward Kelly.

Since they woke up this morning, Kelly has been acting as if the fight yesterday with Marty didn't happen, or at least that Payson didn't witness it. Payson's certainly not expecting Kelly to discuss it now, but she at least needs to know if Kelly's going to be able to focus on performance.

Kelly, lolling against the wall as if she's killing time before first period, flicks a glance at Payson. One side of her mouth curls as, suddenly, her eyes become alight with animation. "World final, Keeler. Damn right I'm ready."

A thrum of determination rushes through Payson's veins as she shares Kelly's almost feral smile.

"Are you?"

Before Payson can answer Kelly's question, the music in the arena changes pace, a sudden surge of deep orchestral rumblings replacing generic pop. It's nearly time.

"Ladies! If you could all line up behind your lead out! Fast as possible, please!" An ear-pieced official with a clipboard under one arm and a tablet in hand hollers down the hallway.

"Everyone good to go?" Payson asks her four teammates as they fall into their designated spots.

"Hell yeah," Hayley answers, shoving her fist forward. "Let's do this!"

"Take it down a notch, Rocky. It's a long competition." Kelly pretends to chastise but is the first to slap her palm over Hayley's fist.

"Let's get ready to rumble!" Beth declares, in such a deep voice that the Chinese gymnasts lined up behind them giggle. She is oblivious as she adds her hand to the pile.

"Bring it on," Lauren states, with a dangerous edge that Payson appreciates - when it's not aimed at Lauren's own team.

"USA on three," Payson instructs, as she completes the stack of hands.

They don't yell it as they did before qualification, instead their voices are low and determined and focused.

"Remember, just follow your sign carrier! They'll lead you to your starting apparatus!" The official hollers again and Payson takes her place at the head of the team, Kelly, Lauren, Beth, and Hayley falling in step behind.

Even though she's mentally run through this scenario many times, it doesn't entirely prepare Payson for the pride that flushes through her ramrod posture as she strides beneath the arch emblazoned with 'World Artistic Gymnastics Championships 2011' and into the enormous arena.

Cheers swell, camera's flash, music blares. Though Payson is careful to keep her eyes fixed to the back of the official carrying the USA sign, to keep her mind on the job she has come here to do, she cannot help but file away the sounds and the sensations of this moment, this achievement.

She already knew the Olympic Arena was a great facility, but, in full competition regalia, it's even more impressive than she first thought. The brand new stands running right up to the rafters are bouncing with excited spectators. The pristine equipment gleams on the four raised podiums. Payson almost feels a little guilty that, in a few minutes time, chalky footprints will be covering the clean carpets they are marching along.

As USA qualified in first place, they will start on vault, along with the second highest qualifiers, China. The official leads them round to the long vault podium. Payson works to keep her heart steady, to stop herself bobbing on the spot with excitement. She needs to carefully budget her energy usage as there is the traditional introduction of the gymnasts to the crowds and TV cameras to be tackled.

USA take their place on the mat beside China's lineup, Payson exchanging a respectful smile with Genghi Cho.

"And representing Team USA…" The announcer's voice bellows through the speakers. "Payson Keeler!"

This part of the competition is no different from any other, in that it has been rehearsed many times. Payson amps up her brightest smile, takes one pace forward, gives a double hand wave to the stand in front, twists to offer the same to the stand behind, then steps back into line just as "Kelly Parker!" is introduced.

Payson claps each of her teammates, managing to hold back an eyeroll when Lauren blows a kiss at the crowd instead of waving.

A section of the north stand directly in front of them is exclusively for the media. Payson directs her gaze to the tiered seating above. She has no illusions of being able to actually see her mom, but she knows that's the area she's sitting in. She grins at the mash of faces indistinguishable in the moving lights and hopes her mom is smiling back.

Payson had seen her briefly this morning - enough time for a good luck hug and her mom to start crying and flapping away tears with a "I'm just so proud of you!" - and was glad to discover Kim was going to be sitting with Kaylie and her dad rather than stuck with the Tanners or Summer.

When the last member of the team from Great Britain - who qualified eighth - has been introduced, the background music that's been underpinning the festivities fades away, leaving the rumble of expectation to fly through the arena. After all the anticipation, competition is finally about to get underway.

* * *

 _First up on vault for USA is Lauren Tanner, then Payson Keeler, then the highest qualifier on this particular piece of apparatus, Beth Dean. China lead out with Jiang Yuyuan, followed by Huang Qiushuang, and then potential all-around medalist Genghi Cho._

 _All due respect to both teams, but it's a surprise that Russia aren't up there in one of the first two qualification slots, right, Elfie?_

 _Very much so. In all the furore surrounding USA's championships so far, Russia's poor performance in qualification has been mostly overlooked. Something I'm sure will be much appreciated by Darya Smirnova and Yana Lebedeva, who both suffered uncharacteristic falls on bars and beam respectively._

 _Without those fall deductions, Russia would have been fighting for the number one qualification spot. So keep an eye out for them as we progress through today's events, folks._

* * *

To speed up competition, the eight teams have already completed a full warm up in the reserve facility. However, they are allowed a few minutes to familiarise with each apparatus before the starting claxon sounds.

Payson does a short sprint to get the feel of the runway, and checks in with Darby to make sure her list of springboard adjustments are correct. As she trots back to the chairs, her eyes cut to Lauren. For the first time in a while, she thinks of Emily.

"What?" Lauren frowns, arm crooked in a tricep stretch.

"Nothing." Payson turns away to pull on her jacket, remembering how Emily had hit the mat after Lauren had messed with the springboard position.

 _Stay in the moment_ , Sasha's voice says in her mind.

"Amanar, sit out, sit out, floor. Amanar, sit out, sit out, floor," Beth repeats to herself, face taut with concentration. She has already suited back up to keep warm, and is sitting between Kelly and Hayley. Payson had hoped Marty's change in vault would have sunk in by now.

"Where are your index cards?" As Payson drops into side splits in front of her teammates, she notes Beth's empty hands.

She had quickly updated Beth's finals card on the minibus ride over, unable to help a smile at some of Sasha's scrawled annotations - _closed eyes when you vault is fine, just remember to open them again when you're done!_

"Marty said my focus would be better if I didn't have the distractions of all those notes," Beth answers, with a half shrug, before returning to muttering her Amanar moves under her breath.

Payson manages to keep her reaction to a jaw spasm, though internally she seconds Kelly's muttered, "oh for fuck's sake."

"Marty does know what he's doing, you know," Lauren frowns, jigging up and down on the spot to keep her legs loose. Her loyalty may be fickle, but while it lasts it is fiercely strong, and it has apparently been transferred wholly to Marty.

"I'm not saying he doesn't," Payson replies, evenly, twisting onto her stomach for a seal stretch.

"Yeah, right," Lauren scoffs. "Just remember that Marty has way more coaching experience than either of you." She glares at Payson and Kelly. "Or Sasha."

Providently, the starting claxon blares, silencing any further attempts by Lauren to defend her new club coach, and gifting Payson the seconds needed to smother the anger that suddenly spikes.

"Lauren, you set?" Marty strides over.

"Good to go." Lauren flashes a dazzling smile.

"Let's do this then." Marty steers Lauren toward the podium steps as the arena comes alive with excitement.

"Let's go, Lo!" Haley shouts, standing to clap. Beth follows her lead.

"You hold her down, I'll strangle her." Kelly has perfected the ability of maintaining a camera friendly smile while muttering her true sentiments.

"Stay in the moment," Payson murmurs, as she and Kelly stand up and join their teammate's to cheer on Lauren. "All we need from Lauren is for her to hit."

"Would it count if I hit her?"

"After floor is done, you can do whatever you want to her."

Kelly's smile becomes genuine.

Rather than quieten as the competitors take to the apparatus, the arena gets louder. Ono Kaho is first up for Japan on floor and her fast tempo music bursts from the speakers nearest the twelve by twelve mat, just as Klavdiya Fedorovna is boosted onto the higher of the uneven bars and is encouraged by determined cheers from the Russian team.

Gymnasts are used to zoning out distraction during competition and as Lauren waits at the end of the runway, she is unfazed. When _Tanner, L._ shines from the digital display, just above the _5.8_ that indicates the degree of difficulty ascribed to her double twisting yurchenko, she's ready.

After a deep breath, Lauren tips back on her right heel and launches into her approaching run, knees pumping high until she sights her mark and tips into a roundoff back handspring that throws her airborne. Arms held tight to her chest, she spins once, twice, knees bending as her feet collide with the mat. She throws in a quick hop to keep her balance and raises her arms to salute the solid dismount.

Payson is already stepping up to the elevated start platform as Lauren jogs down the steps at the other end to be met with a high five from Marty. It doesn't take the judges long to score Lauren _14.7_. Payson notes the numbers then narrows her focus to the runway.

The noise of the crowd fades, the thumping drum beat of the current floor routine silences; all Payson hears is her own pulse. She slaps her chalked palms together, folds her toes into the mat, left foot then right, and catches in her peripheral vision when _Keeler, P._ replaces _Tanner, L_.

Every action is premeditated, sewn into the fibres of each required muscle by years of training. On competition day, a gymnast's most common mistake is thinking too much rather than trusting what they know by instinct. The only instruction Payson gives her body is permission to _go_. Next conscious thought, she's on the crash pad, squarely facing away from the horse and saluting the judges, her roundoff, half on, layout full, as perfectly executed as possible outside a textbook.

"Great job, Payson!" Marty offers a double high five as Payson hops down to the main floor. She meets his hands, but only because leaving the team's head coach hanging would hardly go over well on television.

"You ready?" Payson gives Beth's shoulders a quick squeeze as the smaller girl readies to mount the platform.

"Amanar?" Beth whispers out the corner of her mouth.

"Amanar," Payson repeats with a nod and Beth clambers up onto the apparatus warm-up mat.

"Let's go Toto!" Kelly hollers, as she passes Payson a jacket.

Since there are no deductions to make, Payson's score quickly appears, first on the permanent scoreboard at the west end of the arena, and then on the cube of screens hanging from the centre ceiling.

"15.5. Not bad." The tone of Kelly's congratulations would be more suitable if she had added the caveat "considering".

Payson understands her teammate's reticence. The mark is 0.4 down on her qualification score as, with the start value set at 6.1 instead of 6.5, even perfect execution couldn't make up the difference.

"You got this, Beth!" Payson shouts, trying not to let her annoyance at Marty's decision blight her game face.

"Does she have this?" Kelly murmurs, eyes on the team's youngest gymnast.

"I hope so." The image of Chris having to catch Beth during podium training after Drea's dramatic removal from the team flashes through Payson's mind.

 _Dean, B. 6.5_ is suddenly highlighted on the digital display and Beth steps onto the blue mat, triggering the beginning of her time allowance. The power in her compact frame is evident as she sprints down the runway, hurling her body forward into the springboard and ricocheting off the horse. She lands solid but needs to take a big step to the side and then an additional small hop to compensate for over rotating the final twist.

"Dammit," Kelly mutters - two adjustments on landing mean two separate deductions on execution - though her smile doesn't waver. TV cameras and boom mics are hovering close, eager to capture reactions.

"Marty handled the situation totally wrong." Payson hides her words behind her clapping hands.

Meeting Beth as she jumps down from the landing pad as he did with Lauren and Payson, Marty offers a "good job, Beth" but Payson knows the man well enough to see the hard set in his eyes. She suspects Beth, highly observant if not able to immediately process what she sees, won't miss it either.

"And look who just popped her senior finals cherry." Kelly offers a hand for Beth to slap as the gymnast jogs back to them.

"Huh?"

"Ya did good, Toto," Kelly enthuses, as Payson wraps Beth in a tight hug, shielding Beth's slightly confused face from the TV camera.

"I could've hit the Produnova better," Beth shrugs when Payson lets her go, eyes drifting to study some banners that have been hung from the upper tiers of seats.

Payson exchanges a pointed look with her elder teammate after the camera has moved to focus on the Chinese team.

"Ok, ladies, great start," Marty says, gesturing for the team to gather around him. "It's a solid base to build on."

As Payson zips up her team jacket, her mind strays to Sasha, trapped in his hotel room, watching his decisions being countermanded to the detriment of the team. She's not sure who she's more angry with, Marty, or the drunk driver who ran them off the road.

* * *

 _And with the addition of Beth Dean's score of 15.5, Team USA posts a vault total of 45.7, putting them in the silver medal position at the end of the first rotation._

 _But it has to be noted, Tim, that they are nearly a full point off their qualification score of 46.6. Both Payson Keeler and Beth Dean performed lower value vaults, and Beth was nowhere near her execution score compared to qualification._

 _Makes you wonder why Coach Walsh made the last minute changes._

* * *

As USA competed first on vault, China open proceedings on bars, Genghi Cho, Sun Changying, and Wu Mierong, all posting over 14.5. It's a strong performance, but Payson is confident she, Kelly, and Lauren, can match or even better it, thus reducing the gap between their first rotation score of 45.7 and China's 46.1.

It's Russia who are the threat at the moment. A 45 flat on beam has them in third position, a full point increase on their qualification score. Payson knew the quali score was artificially low - because of Yana Lebedeva's double fall - but she wasn't expecting that amount of improvement.

 _Why are you looking at the scoreboard?_ Sasha's voice barks in her head.

Payson quickly adjusts her attention. Lauren, first up, is preparing the bars by rubbing in her favoured option of chalk and sugar water to aid grip.

"Go Lo, Go Lo!" Beth and Haley, both sitting out this rotation, form a tiny cheer squad from their chairs by the barricades, Beth notably calmer now, since Marty has made no changes to her other apparatus, floor.

"You know, this is why I don't like team competitions." Kelly, tracksuit stripped off, red rhinestone leotard twinkling, almost sighs.

"Not a fan of cheering?" Payson tightens her right hand guard then holds out her left so Kelly can help fasten the velcro.

"Obviously," she states, then adds, "I mean, when it's not for myself."

"And Beth," Payson corrects.

"Every rule has its exception," Kelly says, haughtily, and Payson is struck by how, a few months ago, she would have taken Kelly's deliberate sneering mask at face value.

"You got this, Parker?" Payson's seemingly generic question is laced with an affectionate concern Kelly doesn't miss.

"Do I got this?" she scoffs, the whisper of a genuine smile pulling at her lips. "Keeler, I was born with 'this'."

"Just checking." Payson nudges her shoulder into Kelly's, smiling kindly enough for Kelly to fake an eye roll and advise, "you get any more sentimental and I will throw up on you, cameras or not," then ruin the entire threat with a matching smile she can't suppress.

"Come on, Lauren!" Haley calls, interrupting the friends mostly non-verbal conversation.

"Oh yes. Let's go _Lo_." Kelly, slipping back into her shield of haughty disdain, enunciates the encouragement with comical disgust.

Marty offers a final few whispered instructions before jumping off the platform, leaving Lauren to await her start buzzer.

 _Let's hope she really can do this on her sleep,_ Payson thinks to herself, as Lauren swings onto the lower bar.

* * *

" _Not what you would call a great start for the USA on bars, Tim_ "

"No shit, Sherlock!" Sasha bellows at the tv screen, slamming a palm down on his mattress in lieu of hurling the remote control at the window.

"You bloody let her train that sodding upgraded routine, didn't you? You wanker!" Sasha hurls the abuse at Marty's sullen close up as Lauren's score of 13.000 runs along the ticker tape at the bottom of the screen.

The routine had gone cleanly until, on completing her inbar stalder, Lauren had done a half turn, a full swing, another half turn, two more full swings, and then had simply dropped off the top bar to the mat.

Sasha hadn't even needed the replay to identify what happened. Lauren had gotten her two routines confused, panicked, and - instead of resetting her position to prepare for her pac salto - had dropped off the apparatus altogether.

After being assisted back onto the top bar by Marty, Lauren had completed the routine, but her execution had been mess. Sasha's surprised she managed to scrap a 13 for it. Kelly and Payson will have to nail their routines to make up for the points deficit, especially since the team is already on the back foot because of Marty's decision to downgrade both Payson and Beth's vaults, and Beth's low execution score.

The tv screen is filled with Kelly's determined face as she awaits the judge's permission to begin her routine, when a knock resounds from the door.

"Seriously?" Attention not wavering from the telly, Sasha hopes he's heard wrong. Who the hell would try and see him now?

The knock is repeated. Sasha swears under his breath and hauls himself off the bed, pretty sure there's nothing left for him to be fired from but drawing a blank as to who else could be the source of the disturbance.

"Did you see? Poor Lauren will be crushed!" Summer blurts as soon as the door is pulled open.

"What?" Hardly an eloquent opening but Sasha is too busy being relieved he pulled on a hoodie and sweatpants this morning as opposed to yesterday's shorts and nothing else.

"I'm sorry, I know it's a bad time but I need to talk to you." Summer worries her way over the threshold and Sasha has to scrap the idea of using fatigue or pain or his imminent death as excuses for not inviting her in.

"You don't mind if I…?" Sasha lumbers over to the highback chair and gestures in the direction of the TV as he sits down. Not that he has the slightest intention of heeding whatever answer she gives.

"No, not at all." Summer gives him a look that reminds him just how beat up he still looks. He scratches at his cheek self-consciously as he watches Kelly begin her routine, annoyed on her behalf for how long the judges made her wait.

"Poor Lauren," Summer says, hands clasped beneath her chin as she hovers too close to his chair.

"Her mind was on her all-around routine." Sasha keeps his voice neutral; he attributes most of the blame to Marty anyway, it's his job to keep the gymnast's mind focused on the right competition.

"But she's trying so hard," Summer continues and Sasha wonders if he's being harsh in continuing to believe that guilt for leaving her so suddenly a few months back is the primary driving force behind Summer's concern for Lauren's wellbeing.

"They're still in second place, though." Summer's glass half full smile is full of white teeth and Sasha has to bite off the response that they won't be by the end of this rotation.

"Look, Summer, I don't mean to be rude, but can this wait?" He can feel his anger starting to rise, his chest tightening, and the urge to reach for his meds creeping strongly.

Summer, either not recognising Sasha's distress or deeming her mission too important to heed it, shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Sasha, but I don't think it can. I wanted to talk to you while no one else was around."

"I thought we said all we needed to the other day." Sasha keeps his attention firmly locked on the screen; Kelly has just landed her dismount without a flicker of a step, broad smile hiding the pain it must have caused her ankle.

"I know you may think this is none of my business…"

Sasha feels tension zip across his shoulders; nothing good ever came after those words.

"...but I feel it's my duty, and I wanted to talk to you directly before I spoke to Kim."

That has Sasha on his feet. Though a day and a half of near solid sleep has equipped him to better deal with his injuries, the pain is still acute and he fights to keep from clutching his sternum.

"Summer…" He growls a warning but wonders why he wastes his breath.

"She's just a child, Sasha!" Summer always has known which words to use to hit him the hardest and those collide hard enough that he swears he feels a rib re-crack.

"I know she seems older than her years." Summer barrels on, wringing her hands, as Sasha feels the recently refused skin of his scars strain under the tension in his jaw. "And I know that you would never deliberately take advantage of her, but..."

"But what, Summer?" Sasha spits the question. On screen, Payson mounts the apparatus and prepares to fly.

Something akin to jealousy ripples over Summer's face, and then it's gone, replaced by seeming desolation. "It's true then," she almost whispers, taking his non-denial as confirmation.

MJ had called this morning for a quick sit-rep and had mentioned Summer's odd conversation with Payson the night of the Copacabana party; they'd agreed it almost certainly meant Summer suspected the relationship.

"Shouldn't you check your facts _before_ you start the sermon?" Sasha's voice rumbles and, God, he suddenly really needs a drink.

That gives Summer pause but not enough to leave the room.

"I'm not saying I don't understand how it could have happened; Payson is a lovely girl and you two have been working very closely together in a highly stressful situation but...but that's why it's so important to listen to an outside perspective."

"Let me guess, _your_ outside perspective." Sasha clasps the back of the chair with both hands so it can take some of his weight. His eyes are straying to the minibar even though he knows he had Jake empty the fucking thing.

Summer advances on him, loose hair jangling in gentle ringlets, palms raised as if to offer salvation. "If you truly care for Payson, then you need to do what's right for her."

Sasha digs his nails into his scalp. "And what, from _your perspective_ , is that?"

Summer tries to take his hand but he flinches away like he's been scalded. "Encourage her to stay at the Rock, where she can be with her friends, where her talents can be channeled and nurtured in the appropriate direction."

Sasha is tempted to ask if that's what Steve Tanner's using as a sales pitch these days, but he's too preoccupied trying to ignore the raging siren call of his pain pills on the desk within easy reach. Every muscle he's spent two days coaxing into relaxation have snapped rigid.

"Where Payson decides to train is Payson's decision." In his peripheral vision, Sasha sees Payson release for a Jaeger, recatching seamlessly.

"She's a teenager, Sasha," Summer implores, "she needs guidance. And - whatever you might be telling yourself - age is not just a number." Judgement has finally tinted her tone and, as Sasha glares at her, he sees it creep into her eyes as well.

"Why are you here, Summer?" Sasha is almost surprised at the calmness of his question as is, apparently, Summer.

"What?"

"In Rio. Why are you here in Rio?" He frowns at her, attention fully hers for the first time.

"I'm here for Lauren," Summer asserts, chin tipping up slightly, never one to like being on the receiving end of scrutiny.

"Then be here for, Lauren," Sasha snaps, all tolerance suddenly gone. "Don't try and save me, don't play the moral police, and don't offer perspective on something that is none of you business!"

"Do not take something from that girl that you know she can never get back!" Summer cries, face flushing red.

"And here we go," Sasha announces, pushing himself off the back of the chair and flinging his arms out wide, not caring how it drags his bones in directions they really shouldn't go. "Knew we'd get there eventually. Go on then, ask the question, Summer."

His half smile is cruelly brittle and Summer tries to stand a little taller. "What question?" she fires back.

"The question you really want answered."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Summer spins away from him, unintentionally staring straight at the TV as a close up of Payson and Kelly's smiling faces flashes up, their matching scores of 15.125 slotting above Lauren's 13.000 contribution.

"Ask. The. Question."

"What question?" she snaps, glaring at him, her beauty marred as her true motivation is slowly stripped bare.

"You know what question," Sasha pushes, damned if he's going to let her off easy now.

"What?" Summer accuses. "Why you seem to think it's acceptable to date a teenager?" She packs a bible's worth of condemnation into the last word. "You mean that question?!"

"Nearly." Sasha offers a coaxing gesture with his palm and Summer flares at the condescension in his expression.

"She is a minor, Sasha!" Her control is in its death throes.

"Just ask it!" Sasha demands.

"Fine!" Summer bellows. "Are you having _sex_ with her?!"

The final letters ping off the bare windows and reverberate round the small room. Summer's breathing is audible, her lips slightly parted, her cheeks red. Sasha suddenly feels like all his adrenaline has evaporated. Wearily, he sinks back into the chair and tries to breath down his blood pressure.

"Just leave, Summer. Excuse me if I don't walk you to the door."

"What?" Summer doesn't bother masking her shock. "But we're in the middle of…"

"No, we're not," Sasha interrupts, rubbing the heel of his hand into his unbruised eye. "Whatever it was we were once in the middle of ended a long time ago and damn well had nothing to do with this conversation."

"I'll speak to Kim!" It's a threat designed to provoke. Summer just doesn't realise her ammunition is no longer deadly.

"Speak to Kim," Sasha shrugs. "It's not my place to stop you."

"But…" Summer wavers, and Sasha closes his eyes, hoping to hear the door slam. But he knows he has done nothing to deserve such luck.

"Sasha." Summer drops to crouch in front of him, forcibly clasps his hands even though he keeps the trapped fingers rigid. "Can't you see how much better it would be - for everyone - if everything just went back to the way it was?"

Sasha opens his eyes but directs them at the window. "If you're not here for Lauren, then I can give you no other reason to be in Rio." He does nothing to keep the perceptible ice from this dismissal.

There is a minute - perhaps there are many - then Summer stands swiftly, offering nothing but a small exhalation as she flees the room. Sasha remains where he is, again losing track of time after the door has fallen back into its frame. He tastes blood where he has ground his bottom lip into his teeth. He looks at his hand, realises his pill case is now gripped in his palm. It's sectioned, each of the seven days split into three separate lidded boxes. Jake's filled it for today and tomorrow. It's not much, but...

He can barely breathe. It would be so easy. The first lid issues a click as he flicks it open, fingers trembling. His eyes are fixed so wide they're starting to water. So fucking easy…

The roar that erupts through him as he hurls the plastic box at the wall is brutal enough to lift him to his feet. When he collapses to the bed, head in his hands, white pills dotting the carpet, he can taste the blood running from his mouth as he sobs.


	47. Chapter 47

**CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN**

 _If you're just tuning in, folks, have we got a competition on our hands!_

 _It's all changed here at the end of the third rotation, with Russia seemingly coming out of nowhere to edge ahead of China. USA, after dropping from second to fourth due to a poor bars showing, has pushed back into the bronze medal slot with a strong performance on beam._

 _Gotta give props to Hayley Righetti, who really showed some steel in posting a 14.25 after replacing the injured Kelly Parker._

 _Payson Keeler continued to impress with a 15.1 and Lauren Tanner certainly redeemed herself with a 15.2 on what is her signature piece._

 _With one rotation to go, the top three are separated by less than a point._

 _So there's still everything to play for, Tim._

 _Certainly is, Elfie. China and USA will finish on floor, Russia on vault. It may very well come down to who can hold their nerve._

* * *

"I. Hate. Math." Hayley grumbles, grimacing up at the arena's main scoreboard, willing the numbers to make sense.

"It's not time for math yet," Payson directs. "Way too many variables."

With two out of their three floor scores posted, China is currently sitting in first place, but USA and Russia still have three routines left to compete - USA on floor, Russia on vault - so nothing is yet certain.

As usual, team orders are that the gymnasts don't watch their competitors perform. Kelly, in deliberate defiance of Marty's instruction, is studying Genghi Cho's every move.

"Fine, no math. But what should I be sending out vibes for?" Hayley pushes, expression desperate enough that Payson relents a little.

"If Cho went below 15 it would be...helpful."

"But it's gonna be close, right?" Lauren, completing final stretches, glances at Payson as Cho's routine comes to an end. "I mean she bobbled on like all her spins."

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't just say that," Marty warns, gesturing for Lauren, Payson, and Beth to gather around him. "Since you weren't supposed to be watching."

"But Parker…"

"Focus!" Marty barks, sharp enough that Lauren looks a little hurt. He softens his voice.

"You can all still do this." He looks pointedly at the three of them. "Remember, _energy_. Make the judges take notice of every single move you make out there on that floor."

Payson nods along with his encouragement but she'd be a lot more confident if Kelly was fit to perform. Despite a solid beam performance, which Payson respects her for nailing - she knows how confidence sapping a major mistake on a previous apparatus can be - Lauren is looking tired. She never really paid Sasha much heed when it came to conditioning and it's starting to show.

"Don't be looking at the Russia, _we_ determine the color of the medal we win, ok?"

"Yes, Coach."

"Let's go to work," Marty finishes up, breaking the huddle. He leads Lauren aside and offers instructions or encouragement only audible to her.

Kelly has stationed her gym bag as a prop so she can elevate her ankle. Payson drops down in the adjacent chair, alternating tricep stretches as she stares at the carpet, trying not to use up any of her vital reserves of energy.

"15.3 _._ So much for those vibes." Kelly's quiet announcement is masked by cheers around the arena as Cho's score goes up.

After a moment, Lauren's giddy pop song begins, but Payson doesn't watch her teammate, or dwell on Genghi Cho's better than hoped performance. Her mind is deliberately blank, a white fog tinted only with the opening chords of Swan Lake.

"No -ajor -uck-ups," Kelly mutters beside her, clicking the syllables with her tongue so her mouth stays static - though the m and f fail - making sure no eager eyed lip reader can identify what she's saying. "And, done," she confirms the last tumble, notification punctuated with applause from the crowd.

There isn't much waiting, Lauren not providing many talking points for the judges, and when the applause bursts again, Payson flicks a look at the scoreboard.

 _Tanner, L. 14.7_

It's a repeat of what Lauren scored in qualification. Payson returns her gaze to the carpet, standing and curling down to push her nose to her knees.

"Hunting time, Toto! Lock and load!" Kelly hollers, as Beth trots up the platform steps to the chalk bin. "And don't look at me like that," she tells Payson, who is glowering back at her, face upside down. "She's from a redneck state - that's how they talk!"

Payson groans into her knees then clears her mind again. Beth's music is frenetic and Kelly's too busy watching the speedily linked elements to offer any commentary, but, from the level of crowd noise, Beth's performance has them hooked.

Aware that all attention within the arena, including the omnipresent camera operators, is on Beth, Payson permits herself ten seconds - no more - to think of Sasha, of what the Swan Lake routine represents to both of them.

A blink, and she pushes his face away.

"Not quite as good as me, but hey, we can't ask for miracles." Kelly's proud smile belies the superiority in her comment as Beth sticks her final tumbling pass and flips into her finishing position in exact time with the last beat of the music.

Payson gifts Beth a grin as the younger gymnast, few wisps of hair that have managed to twitch free of her hair-spray cemented bun bobbing, bounds down the steps and bounces over to them. Then she breathes all tension from her body, and focuses every sense on remaining in the moment.

The carpet is chalk encrusted from all the bare feet that have paced it today; the steps are three in number and shallow; there are sweat clumps of chalk in the bin where she prepares her hands and smacks the excess powder on her soles; footprints lead from the bin to the mat edge.

The letters on the scoreboard hold no meaning for her until they arrange themselves to say _Keeler, P_. A breath through her nose as she acknowledges the judges with the traditional raised arm salute. Then, her pointed feet pace her across the hallowed twelve by twelve meter mat to the very centre, where she folds down into her opening position, every millimeter of her body perfect in it's rehearsed alignment.

When the music starts, Payson allows her body to sing.

* * *

 _And that's it! With a wonderful routine, Payson Keeler brings to a close Team USA's bid for a medal here at the 2011 World Championships!_

 _All eyes are on the scoreboard. Surely they've done enough to secure a medal, Tim?_

 _They definitely have! But the question is, what colour will it be?_

* * *

Taking in deep, steady pulls of air, Payson gratefully accepts Kelly's offer of a water bottle as she makes her way back to the chairs, the arena still ringing with applause for her routine.

"What's the math say?" Hayley is clinging to Lauren's arm and it's testament to how exhausted and nervous Lauren is that she isn't recoiling at the touch.

Gulping down water, her heart rate too nervous to return to its normal rhythm after the stamina sapping floor routine, Payson tries to run the numbers.

"She needs 15.2 or over for us to go ahead of China." It's Beth who answers Hayley's question. She's sitting down, legs swinging, ostensibly watching the empty beam platform.

"She's right," Kelly confirms, with a bemused smile. Beth starts to whistle as Hayley buries her face in Lauren's shoulder with an "I can't look!"

Doing her damndest to appear neutral, Payson tips her eyes to look at the scoreboard. 15.2 is within her capabilities but she's pretty certain she took a step on her last tumble run and so failed to get the connection bonus to her leap, plus her Memmel turn was borderline. Still, she's always too hard on herself so maybe the judges saw it differently?

The space beside her name starts to flicker on the digital display and Payson holds her breath.

 _Keeler, P. 15.0_

Payson's eyes fall shut and she bites her upper lip against the disappointed curse she wants to hurl into the air.

"Dammit." Lauren doesn't quite manage to hold in her frustration but she recovers quickly and elbows Hayley in reminder to clap.

Kelly, the veteran, does not allow any emotion to slip by her mask and truly looks like she's pleased for China, though Payson suspects her friend is picturing drowning them all in that vat of fake tan she was saving for Lauren.

"Well done, all of you," Marty says, giving Hayley a side hug and patting Lauren's back. "And thank you. I know you guys gave everything you had. I couldn't have asked for more from any of you."

He directs the latter at Beth, and Payson is surprised to find sincerity in his face, and perhaps a note of apology. She stifles a sigh. Typical Marty, realising too late what would have been the best course of action. She's tempted to slap him, or perhaps hug him, but settles for a brief smile when his hand squeezes her shoulder.

"So it all comes down to Ivanka." Payson's gaze slides past Marty and settles on the vault platform on the other side of the arena.

"She's back where we started," Beth comments, playing with a ribbon she's worked loose from her bun.

Ordinarily, vault is the fastest apparatus and is the first to finish, but Japan protested their third vaulter's score and caused a long delay. Ivanka is third up for Russia and is still to perform.

"Ivanka scores 14.8 or below, Russia get bronze, we get silver, China gets gold. 15 pushes us down to bronze, Russia gets silver, China wins. She tops 15.2 and Russia wins," Beth surmises before Hayley can question the math.

"No pressure then," Kelly murmurs, eyes locked on Ivanka, who has just mounted the vault podium and is preparing to run.

Vault is not Ivanka's best event, but Payson suspects the Russian coach is going for a confidant anchor rather than risking their higher scorer, Fedorova, who has already proved inclined to nerves.

"Pointless of me to tell you not to watch, I'm guessing?" Marty says, arms snapped across his chest straining with tension.

" _I'm_ not watching!" Hayley's voice is muffled since she's got her face hidden against Lauren's shoulder.

With every other gymnast apart from her already finished, the attention of the entire arena is trained on Ivanka. The hush is unnatural as the timer starts and Ivanka salutes the judges.

Payson doesn't know if it's indoctrinated team rules or cowardice that has her looking at the carpet just as Ivanka pitches into a sprint. The gigantic roar she receives on landing does not necessarily mean a high-scoring vault. Still, Payson thinks her stomach may have fallen into the basement of the arena as she watches the crowd reaction.

"So...now we just wait, right?" Beth, still swinging her legs back and forth, looks to Kelly for confirmation of what is required of her.

"We wait." Kelly nods and grips Beth's hand.

"And die of anticipation," Hayley frets, nibbling on her nails.

"Can you really die of…"

"Don't!" Lauren shoves an accusatory - and shaking - finger toward Beth before the question is completed. She remains, as do they all, staring at the scoreboard.

Payson reaches a count of forty-five in her mind before Ivanka's beam score is added to Russia's final total.

RUSSIAN FEDERATION 178.397

PEOPLE'S REPUBLIC OF CHINA 178.196

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 178.000

* * *

"Bronze medalists: The United States of America!" The announcer's voice echoes through the lifting applause and Payson can't actually believe she isn't about to wake up.

As one, the team waves to the crowd, then, in a moment Payson has dreamed about since she donned a leotard and threw her first cartwheel, she places a foot on the podium, pushing into the painted wood to launch her up into her new position of World Championship medalist.

She can't see her mom in the crowd, but she can feel her pride, just as she can picture the joy on her dad and sister's faces back in Boulder, certain they are yelling at the TV screen loud enough to have Phoebe barking along with the excitement.

"Representing the United States of America: Payson Keeler!"

The appointed dignitary - Payson has no idea who he is, only that he appears genuinely pleased to be there - steps forward and Payson bows her head, praying she can hold back her proud tears so that she doesn't start Oscar acceptance speech bawling. The ribbon slides over her hastily reordered braids and drapes over the collar of her pristine National Team jacket.

"Bethany Dean!" The dignitary moves on, having to duck a lot further to adorn Beth with her award since the girl bends her neck down almost to the level of her waist.

Flowers clutched in one hand, Payson reverently cradles the bronzed disc in her free palm, noting its weight, its etched pattern, reminding herself that it's real and it's hers.

When the Russian anthem plays, Payson barely hears it over the beat of her own heart as she watches the stars and stripes rise.

* * *

"It feels amazing!"

It's the fifth time in about ten minutes she's been asked how it feels to win her first world medal, but Payson's elation is carrying her along the press line without any of the usual boredom she experiences during these repetitive media events.

"It's a culmination of everyone's hard work and I am so proud of each and every member of this team."

Media training means the platitudes fall from her mouth without any "ums" or pauses but, while the words may be someone else's, the sentiment is her own.

An NGO rep, assigned the job of keeping the team on schedule, indicates that ESPN's allotted time is over and, with many chorused "thank yous", the girls are shuffled along to the next news outlet.

Payson misses the interviewer's name but spies the BBC logo on the microphone he holds. She leans a little closer, wanting to make sure she hears the exact wording of the questions. The BBC is more likely than Seventeen magazine to comment on how reproducing their qualification score of 181 would have won them gold.

Kelly is on point for this interview, Payson her back up, the other girls providing smiling nods unless directly questioned. They alternate roles for each interview, though none of them entirely trust Beth on a live mic, so she's yet take a turn.

"It's always an honour to represent our country and we really hope we've done them proud." Kelly, media trained since her mother dragged her round the beauty pageant circuit as a baby, entirely conceals the contempt she has for generic 'how does it feel…' questions, as well as the pain that must be wracking through her ankle after the extended period of standing.

Another few general questions that Kelly charms through and then Payson notes the interviewer's eyes sliding to her.

"Payson, congratulations on your first worlds medal."

"Thank you. It's a real honour."

"Yourself and Beth competed different vaults than in qualification. Was that a team decision or...?"

The question is left fairly open, a courtesy to allow a woolly answer, because this isn't a hard hitting interview, and Payson takes that route.

"You'd have to ask Coach Walsh." Payson offers a 'I'm just a dumb gymnast' smile and the interviewer doesn't push the issue, giving her an understanding nod and redirecting to the team as a whole. But, before he can ask the next question, Beth leans across Kelly.

"You're British, right?" She says into the mic, looking at the camera operator and sound guys as well as the interviewer for confirmation

"We certainly are, Miss Dean." The interviewer smiles at her, not at all put off by the random question.

"Then can we give a shout out to our coach? 'Cause he's British too."

For once, Kelly's camera face falters; Lauren tries to shuffle out of shot; Payson hides a smile behind her hand; and Hayley frowns to read the interviewer's press credentials.

"Assuming you're talking about our nation's most successful gymnast ever, Sasha Belov, then yes you certainly can, Miss Dean." The mic is gallantly ceded to Beth, who holds it tight in both hands and looks directly into the lens.

"Hi Coach! Hope you're feeling better and you've stopped throwing up. Just wanted to say thank you for being an awesome coach and for helping me get my best friend back." She stops, then directs "cut" to the BBC guys, and hands back the mic. The sound man gives her a high five.

It's a slightly jumbled end to the interview, as the NGO rep tries to whisk then away, fearful perhaps that Beth will start doing karaoke.

"Please give Sasha my best," the interviewer asks Payson once they're off air, expression genuine, and she assures him she will, making a mental note of the name on his press pass.

The next outlet in line - Payson refuses to assign it the title 'news' - is Seventeen magazine. Lauren and Hayley hurry into the most prominent positions, Lauren just in front turning in her most camera worthy smile. Payson is more than happy to hang back.

As the reporter garbles an intro to camera, Payson feels a tug at her sleeve. Beth peers up at her.

"Drea will know I was talking about her, right? I didn't know if I was allowed to say her name."

Payson puts an arm around Beth's shoulders and dips so the Seventeen people can't hear her answer. "She'll know. And if anyone has a problem with you saying her name, you come tell me."

Payson is making another mental note to text Drea the link to the BBC interview when she hears an excited yelp from Hayley, and looks up to find Seventeen recording Hayley taking a selfie with her bronze medal, checking the picture, yelping again, then talking directly into the camera lens.

"This is it! This is totally my new Facebook photo!"

Payson joins in Beth's spontaneous applause as Hayley revels in having all the attention on her. Apparently Seventeen want to make her long search for a facebook photo a feature for their website.

* * *

As Payson watches the city of Rio fly past the bus window, her mouth cannot stop stretching into a delighted smile, despite her repeated reminders of the need to retain mental discipline. This is just the first of five finals, of five potential medal opportunities, she intends to exploit as much as she is capable.

The bus pulls up in the hotel's front loading bay and is immediately engulfed by reporters, cameras flashing through the windows, microphones and recording equipment prepped. There's no noticeable difference between this gaggle and the mob that bayed for comments the morning of Drea's drug suspension; the comparison fully shakes Payson out of her medal thrilled haze.

"Do we answer questions?" she asks Marty, as the team check each other's hair and arrange their medals to be sitting atop their zipped up jackets.

"Just general thank yous. You've done enough press for today." And with a "let's go, girls," he drags open the minibus' sliding door and steps out into the sudden barrage of noise.

Payson is the last to exit the vehicle, hands surreptitiously hovering should Kelly require assistance in climbing down to the sidewalk. There's no need so Payson pulls her gym bag over her shoulder, and heads toward the hotel. She smiles, waves a few times, but otherwise doesn't engage with the shouted questions and waving microphones until she is forced to stop, her path blocked, because Lauren has decided that posing for photographs counts as 'general thank yous'.

"Think that's enough," she mutters through a media smile, when Lauren shows no sign of getting out of the way.

"Whatever," Lauren shoots back through her own teeth-filled grin and, with a jaunty wave, flounces away, making sure there's enough 'sizzle' in her hips to keep the cameras on her until she disappears behind the hotel's main doors.

Payson thinks she should be awarded another medal for resisting the urge to smack her publicity hungry teammate upside the head.

The main atrium is packed with people. All the finalist countries are residing in this complex and this is the first real opportunity the gymnast's friends and families have had to offer congratulations.

Payson sidesteps and weaves her way through hugging groups to jog up the steps to the reception desk area, its elevation enables her, if she adds tiptoes, to scan the entire floor for her mom. A couple of sweeps and then a familiar hand shoots up, waving frantically as it's owner pushes her way nearer.

"Oh my God!" Kim shrieks, running up the steps, grabbing her daughter's hands and dancing on the spot. Her gleeful face is so reminiscent of Becca that Payson abandons any attempt at decorum and adds her own squealed, "I know!" as she too jumps up and down.

The bouncing soon turns in a twirled hug, Kim lifting Payson off the ground in her enthusiasm.

"Oh, honey," Kim says, breathless, as she finally puts her daughter down. "You were incredible! I was so proud of you I didn't know what to do with myself. I think I broke Alex Cruz's hand squeezing it so hard during your floor routine!"

"Now I'm disappointed you _weren't_ sitting next to Steve Tanner!" Payson laughs, face wrinkling in delight.

"And when they called your name up the to the podium, I just…" Kim bites her lip, tears springing into her eyes, before, unable to find words to convey the depth of her pride, she envelops her daughter in another hug.

Payson squeezes her eyes shut and hides her face in her mom's shoulder, suddenly overcome with memories of pre-dawn car rides to the gym, postponed and cancelled vacations, late night pep talks while her mom rubbed ointment on torn palms and held iced to bruised thighs and never once let on how difficult it must have been to see your child hurt. The sacrifices made to get here have not been Payson's alone.

"Mom," Payson says, pulling back to look at Kim, suddenly deciding. "And I know you're going to say no, and refuse to take it." She starts to babble because she could probably predict to the word her mom's reaction to what she's about to say. "But i'm not taking it back, so if you don't keep it, you're just going to have to chuck it in the garbage 'cause I'm pretty sure you can't recycle them."

"Pay? Sweetie, you've lost me."

"This isn't just mine, Mom." Payson carefully hooks the medal ribbon over her head, hand gripping the bronze disc. "It's your's and Daddy's and Becca's too. This medal belongs to our whole family because there is no way that I could have even gotten close to this achievement without you guys being in my corner. That's why I want you to have it." She extends her hand, closely watching her mother's reaction.

As expected, Kim almost backs away. "Payson, you can't...it's…"

"I can, and I want to," Payson assures, deliberately pressing the medal into her mother's palm, holding it there until Kim's fingers reluctantly close round the bronzed metal.

"I don't know when i'll get a chance to speak to dad and Becca, but can you Skype them? Show them what we won together?"

Kim just stares at her daughter, in a way that reminds Payson of a few nights back, when Kim was trying to comprehend Payson's confession of the relationship with Sasha. Payson suddenly feels very exposed, strangely noting that while she's looking at her mom, she's also looking at Kim Keeler, and that those two things are not automatically the same.

"I would be honoured," Kim's voice is husky with choked emotion, tears spilling over her eyelashes, as she grips Payson's hand.

She didn't believe it possible, but Payson feels more pride in giving away her medal than she did receiving it.

* * *

"There's an ice bath with my name on it that i'm looking forward to way more than is healthy," Kelly sighs in premature relief. "Bring on the numbness."

"We are getting you crutches and don't even start to argue with me." Payson raises her voice to counteract Kelly's outraged, "I just won a bronze medal, thank you very much. I'm perfectly capable of…"

"Needing me to carry you from the elevator?" Payson finishes, struggling to fetch the room key from it's zipped pocket in her gym bag while maintaining a grip on her friend's waist.

"This is not being carried. This is how comrades in arms come home after a triumphant 'third that should've been second or first' competition placing."

Kelly can put no weight on her ankle at all. It gave out in the atrium as she ascended the few steps to the reception area to meet Payson and Kim. Kim had provided the cover of having a congratulatory arm around Kelly's waist to get the girl to the elevator, while Payson diverted well wishers with loud thank yous.

"I am getting Dr Jake to bring up a pair of crutches," Payson asserts, kicking the door open once the green lock light appears and supporting Kelly in her hopping gait.

"Fine." Kelly rolls her eyes then sighs with joyous relief as she drops down onto her mattress.

"And let's keep the questioning of Marty's tactics in this room, okay?" Payson pokes her head out into the corridor to check it's definitely empty. Assured, she pushes the door shut. "And then you can say however many times you want that if he hadn't changed our vaults we would've got silver."

It's the first time Payson has allowed herself to process the thought. Now the initial euphoria of capturing her first worlds medal has ebbed a little, the closeness of the scoring is finally registering its meaning.

"How about that if he'd have kept Lauren on a leash she might not have screwed up her bars and with it our chances of gold?" Kelly's disgust may seem tempered but her light sarcasm does not mean indifference. Payson knows how much energy that frustration and anger can steal, and that neither gymnast can afford to cede to the desire to rant and rue the hand that team orders has dealt them.

"We're not the only ones who'll notice our quali score would've won gold," Payson says quietly, following Kelly's lead and remaining forcibly calm.

"Let's hope the NGO has learned to use a calculator," Kelly groans, as she flops back onto her bed, closing her eyes and stretching double cracks from both shoulders. "Now go shower already. I wanna turn that bath into an iceberg fit to sink the titanic."

* * *

A rushed shower and many trips to the ice machine later - "come on, Keeler! This thing wouldn't even sink a dingy!" - and Payson can finally take the five second journey to Sasha's room. She's a little surprised he hasn't texted, but there's probably a good chance he tired himself out yelling at the TV during the final, and fell asleep right after.

It doesn't take long for her knock to be answered. As usual, she slides into the room as soon as the door cracks to keep her time standing in the corridor as short as possible. Though she doesn't really care what people think, it's best not to fuel gossip with advertising how often she visits Sasha's room. She is met with Sasha's chest, as she is pulled tight to him.

"Bronze medalists still need to breathe," she jokes, tilting her chin so she can look up at him, her hands snug on his hips.

Immediately, she sees the bloody lip.

"Ok." She works to keep her heart steady as she lightly touches his jaw. "I know my mom wasn't in the building, so there's no way she could've cold cocked you again." She meets Sasha's eyes for the first time. They are definitely bloodshot. "What happened?" She does everything she can to keep accusation out of her voice.

"See, this is the part where I say we should be celebrating and that we can talk about this later," Sasha pokes at his lip, then slips a hand into hers, "but I don't think that's gonna work, is it?"

"Not really, no," Payson says carefully, through a sceptical frown. When she looks at the room, the scatter of white pills stand out from the mahogany carpet.

This time she's too scared to even verbalise the question, she just raises her eyebrows and grips his hand.

Shoulders hunching, Sasha scratches his shorn head and forces an embarrassed laugh. "I...I tried to pick them up but, not so good at the reaching down right now."

"Lucky for us, I've got you covered." Payson squeezes then releases his hand, crouching down to pluck the pills from the short fibres until she has a small pile in her palm. "Did you drop the pill box?" she asks mildly, searching for any small spots of white she's missed; there's one under the desk.

"If by 'dropped' you mean 'chucked against the wall', then yeah." Sasha's hands are shoved in his pockets and he's leaning against the back of the door, pointedly not watching her.

"Sasha," Payson sighs as she stands up and puts the pills on the nightstand.

"I'm sorry, Payson. Fuck." He scratches his head again, every gesture tense. "This is not...you just won your first ever medal and I can't even tell you how amazing you were because I missed half the fucking competition and...where's your medal?" He cuts short this self-immolation when he sees that her white team jumper is not accessorised.

Payson, reeling from the shame that's pouring off Sasha, blurts, confused. "I gave it to my mom."

"You...you gave to your mum." Sasha echoes, so quietly it's almost reverential.

"Well, technically I gave it to her, Dad and Becca, but Mom's the only one here so...why are you looking at me like that?" Payson fidgets a little under his unshakable scrutiny.

"You..." Sasha pushes off the door, steps to where she is in the middle of the room and carefully lifts her hand. "You worked your entire life for that medal and you only had it in your possession less than an hour before you gave it away." He's frowning at her hand, rough fingers cradling her own calloused skin. When he finally looks at her, there are tears in his eyes, and Payson realises that he's already been crying; that's why his corneas are so red.

"Do you have any idea what an incredible person you are?" His throat is choking and there's a tremble wracking his body.

"Sasha, what happened?" Payson asks, suddenly urgent, taking charge and encouraging him over to the bed. "It's okay," she soothes, palm to his cheek as they sit on the edge of the mattress and Sasha tries to control his breathing. "Take it slow. Did someone come here during the final?"

Sasha shrinks in on himself, starts to worry his bottom lip again with angry teeth.

"Don't make me get you a pacifier," Payson warns, deliberately matronly, resting her thumb on his bloodied lip.

Sasha's chuckle is soft but it's enough to break the tension and he tips his head forward onto her shoulder and takes several long breaths. Payson kisses his ear, his temple, and waits.

Sitting up suddenly, shaking his head like a dog, and blowing out his cheeks, Sasha blinks several times, as if resetting. "Okay," he says, definitively, to himself and then to Payson, "I'm okay now."

Payson raises a studious eyebrow. "Well, your posture doesn't make me want to cry anymore so I'll believe you for now." She pitches forward and kisses him. His lips taste like copper. "So what happened?" She sits back, pulling a leg beneath her, and tracks Sasha's movement as he slaps both thighs and stands.

"Summer paid me a visit during the final," Sasha says through a deep breath. "It went...not well," he summarises, closing one eye as if wincing at the understatement.

"What did she want?" Payson says, enough icy underlay to the question that Kelly would probably claim it could sink a battleship.

"You were right, what you said to MJ about suspecting Summer knew about us." Sasha perches on the desk and folds his arms. There's blood on the cuff of his hoodie, probably from swiping too hard at his lip. "And she made it quite clear what she thinks of me."

Payson stands sharply, blood pressure rising far too quickly for someone of her fitness level. "What exactly did she say?"

"It doesn't matter, Pay. It's done."

"It does matter," Payson snaps firmly, putting herself in front of Sasha. With how he is lolling back against the desk, they are nearly the same height. "What did she say?"

Sasha studies her for a moment then seems to realise there's no point prevaricating. He sighs. "That she's worried about you. That though I don't realise it, i'm taking advantage of you. That I should encourage you to stay and train at the Rock. That she's just trying to help and offer us both guidance. And there were some choice phrases about dating a teenager and having sex with a minor."

Payson has to fight the urge to bite a hole through her own lip. She opens her mouth but shuts it again, too many thoughts ticker-taping venom through her brain.

Sasha watches her, then drops his eyes as he offers the rest of the story. "I guess the best way to describe it is it triggered me. And I...I really wanted to take…but I didn't. Hence the pill box making friends with the wall. God, it sounds so stupid when I say it out loud."

"It is not stupid," Payson states, vehemently, gripping the back of his neck as she steps between his open legs. "I am so proud of you. Don't!" she cries, as he ashamedly tries to shake away the plaudit. "I am so proud of you," she says again. "I am so proud of _us_."

Sasha's eyes flicker closed and Payson realises that he's not yet in a mental state to accept the rationale of her words. Still, there are other ways to assure him that he's not alone. Nudging their noses together, she kisses him, hard. He permits the caress but doesn't really respond. Unfazed, Payson digs her fingers into his skull, the short bristles of hair poking the tender skin beneath her nails. When she kisses him this time, she sucks on his bottom lip and, either through pain or surprise, his eyes open. She is right there, looking straight into him and, finally, he sees her.

There is something of his old strength when he drags her forward, trapping her thighs between his. One hand works under the hem of her jumper, Sasha's large palm stretching to engulf her lower back. The other threads up through her loose, shower-damp hair, his fingers massaging her skin when his cast stops further progress. Payson continues to cradle the back of his neck, thumbs kneading tight tendons as she presses herself into his body, and allows all pent up emotion to flow through their kiss.

"Not that I'm complaining," Sasha pants, pulling away just enough that his eyes can focus, both hands now splayed across the smooth skin of her lower back, gripping tight, "but you wouldn't be trying to distract me, would you?"

Payson traces his hairline with her thumb nail. "Actually," she says slowly, "I was trying to stop you thinking entirely." She seizes his chin and slams her lips into his, not allowing him a chance to respond.


	48. Chapter 48

**CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT**

"I'm confused," Beth greets them in the hallway, pulling her room door shut behind her and wiggling the handle three times.

"And the sky is blue," Kelly mutters, then jumps when Payson flicks her in the arm. "What? I just thought we were stating the obvious."

"Don't take it out on us 'cause you're grumpy," Payson warns, closing their door after checking the key card is tucked in the pocket of her slacks.

"I am not _grumpy_ ," Kelly snaps, "I am having a totally understandable reaction to having to use these _things_." She brandishes her new forearm crutches like machine guns.

"Do they make it easier for you to walk?" Payson keeps her stride small to allow Kelly to hop along beside her, Beth behind.

"That is so not the point, Keeler." Kelly jams her elbow against the elevator call button, in a tone that means she knows Payson is right but torture would have to be applied to force her to admit it.

"Pretty sure it is." Payson checks the digital screen above the car; it's on it's way up from the second floor. "What are you confused about Beth?" she gets in, before Kelly can complain about something else.

"Why are we celebrating?" Beth frowns as she watches the floor numbers tick up.

"Um, that whole final thing we did earlier - ring a bell? Or did you trade your medal for magic beans already?" Kelly clumps into the elevator as soon as the doors swish open, clearly upset the rubber stoppers on the end of her aluminium crutches prevent them clanking louder.

Payson and Beth step into the car and face the closing doors, ignoring their teammate.

"It's just an informal dinner to say well done for today," Payson explains, batting away Kelly's hand as she tries to reach past to stab at the ground floor button even though Payson has already pushed it. "Jesus, Parker, calm down."

"I'll calm down if you quit being so freakin' perky," Kelly grumps, landing a final strike on the elevator control panel. "Not all of us got to spend the afternoon making out with our too attractive for his own good boyfriend, you know."

"Kelly!" Payson cries, flaring eyes whipping over to Beth, wildly hoping that this is one of the times Beth has tuned out their voices. It's not. Beth is looking right at her, expression blank.

"Oh, like she doesn't know," Kelly airily dismisses the censure. "You did know, right?" she follows up after a beat, a little less sure of herself.

"That Payson's dating Sasha?" Beth says calmly, adjusting her ponytail for the tenth time since they got in the elevator, her hair finally being just long enough to allow the style. "Of course."

"See!" Kelly crows triumphant while Payson feels her stomach sag, but the elevator shudders to a halt on level five, allowing a group of Romanian gymnasts to enter the carriage, before she can question the extent of Beth's knowledge.

Kelly, despite her hatred for any kind of assistance - sentient or not - deliberately leans her weight into the handles of her aluminium crutches so she can whisper in Payson's ear. "Unclench, already, the kid won't tell anyone."

They arrive at the ground floor and are spilled out into a bustling atrium. Far from hindering their progress, Kelly simply aims her crutches toward the hotel restaurant Marty has asked them to meet him in, and begins her hopping gait, assuming that people will get out of her path. Unsurprisingly, they do.

"I know she won't," Payson mutters, as she walks beside her teammate, Beth sauntering along in the wake Kelly creates. "But can you not just announce it like that." It's not just annoyance at Kelly's bad mood that litters Payson's tone, there is genuine hurt there, and Kelly stops, sudden enough that Beth barrels into Payson's back.

"I was ninety-nine percent sure she already knew and pretty much the same that you wouldn't mind her knowing," Kelly says, shifting her weight onto her good leg so she can take her hand from the forearm handle of the crutch and touch Payson's arm. "I wouldn't break your trust, Payson; you know that, right?"

It's an awkward location for such sincerity - causing a temporary roadblock on one of the atrium's mini bridges - but Payson feels no urgency to relocate. She nods, recognising the earnest tint to Kelly's expression.

"I know that, Kelly," she assures, and there is so much relief in Kelly's eyes in that moment - before her usual barricades snap erect - that a surge of affection runs through Payson and she instinctively pulls Kelly into a half hug.

"Me too," Beth asserts, without making it clear exactly what part of the exchange she's agreeing with, and wraps both arms round the other side of Kelly's waist.

When Kelly speaks next, her grumpy, 'how is this my existence?' tone is firmly back in place. "Get off me, before I vomit on the both of you."

While Payson removes her arm with a grin, Beth tightens her hug, simply stating, "my baby brother used to throw up on me all the time."

"Payson," Kelly whines, all leverage having vanished from her threat, "get it off me."

"I'm hungry." Beth pecks a kiss to Kelly's cheek before skipping off toward the restaurant, throwing over her shoulder, "God, Parker, can't you, like, hurry up?"

It's a dead on imitation of Kelly's voice and Payson spends the rest of the short walk loudly laughing at Kelly's gobsmacked expression.

* * *

"To Team USA!" Marty raises his drink and his words are echoed by the other occupants of the large table as various glasses are saluted.

"But we didn't win," Beth whispers to Payson, who is sitting next to her. "We were point one nine six off silver, point three nine seven off gold, and three points off our quali score, which would have put us two point six zero three ahead of Russia."

"And suddenly she's Rainman." Kelly, sitting on the other side of Beth, drains her water, still resentful that her attempt to swipe a glass of wine had been thwarted by a vigilant Darby.

"Who?" Beth flicks her wide eyes between her two friends.

"Kill me," Kelly implores the world in general.

All team members are present, in addition to Marty, Marcus, Darby, and various friends and family. Chris, Jules and Dr Jake had begged off citing prior commitments; Payson wishes she'd been able to do the same.

"You girls should really be proud of yourselves," Darby enthuses - again - looking round at each of the medalists. All except Payson are sporting their bronzes and when Kim had explained why that was the case, there had been more than one adult wiping away a tear they'd swear was allergies.

"And i'll totally be accessorising with another medal in a few days," Lauren chirrups, threading an index finger carelessly through her medal ribbon, as she stabs her fork into a piece of cucumber.

Considering Kelly's presence at the table, and the conspicuous crutches propped against her chair back providing visual reminder of the all-around final situation, it's hardly a sensitive comment, and an awkward chill sprinkles through the atmosphere.

"How's your ankle feeling now, Kelly?" Kim's sips her wine glass, focus directed to the girl across the table, though the intended recipient of her point is perhaps the girl sitting a few chairs to her right.

"Don't need it any more, Mrs K," Kelly announces with a showman's smile. "As long as i've got my arms, I can get my bars medal."

"Damn right." Kim offers her wine glass for Kelly to toast and Payson has to hide a smile at her mom and her friend's performance, even though it made no impact on Lauren, who is absorbed in another conversation with Darby where the words 'Rock' and 'awesome' are being repeatedly utilised.

"I'm sure you'll do wonderfully."

Payson's eye tics at the slightly simpering voice. She has been exceedingly vigilant in not looking in Summer's direction tonight, a chore made easier in them being seated at an awkward angle at the round table.

Her plan of action had started to formulate when she was with Sasha earlier. They had been lying on his bed, Sasha fallen into an emotionally exhausted sleep, his head on Payson's chest. She had stroked his spiky hair and thought. Now, she's ready to put her plan into action.

"Summer?" she calls quietly, leaning back in her chair to peer round Steve Tanner and Marcus, who are hunched together, talking intently, and paying her no heed.

Upon hearing her name, Summer immediately shuffles her chair back a few inches, so she can meet Payson's gaze. "Payson, hi."

"Are you doing anything after dinner?"

Rather than surprised, Summer seems thrilled at the random question. "Not at all. Did you need my help with something?"

Payson fights to keep the neutral expression on her face; that's what Sasha said she claimed to be doing this morning, offering 'help'.

"Could you meet me in lounge? There's something I'd like to talk to you about."

A time is immediately agreed and, had she not found Sasha crippled with shame this afternoon because of Summer's actions, Payson would have felt guilty at the naive joy on the older woman's face. As it is, she dismisses the notion immediately and texts Sasha to say that he should go to bed and she'll check in with him in the morning.

"Keeler," Kelly hisses, leaning in front of Beth to command Payson's attention. When Beth darts forward to join the discussion, Kelly puts a finger to the girl's forehead and pushes her back, leaving it there to hold Beth in place as Payson puts her phone down and leans in.

"What?"

"Why are you planning romantic drinks with Sister Mary Holier Than Thou?"

"I'll explain later," Payson promises, and is grateful when further interrogation is derailed by Beth's attempts to bite Kelly's restraining finger.

* * *

Payson makes sure to get to the lounge before the designated meeting time of 9:30 so she can pick the location of what is about to happen. The ceiling is low slung to encourage intimacy, the lighting dim. Half circle leather couches curve round small tables. Payson selects one in the back corner. She has no intention of making a scene but privacy will make this easier.

Summer is punctual, appearing in the entrance archway exactly when requested. She's wearing the same long white dress she wore to dinner; Payson hadn't bothered to go change either, just loitered round the gift shops with Beth until ten minutes ago.

As Summer glides across the room, Payson recognises the expression on her face from all the times she tried to force church doctrine into their gym: Summer believes she is about to receive a cry for help and a request for guidance.

"Thanks for meeting me." If Payson's greeting isn't quite coated with the amount of desperate gratitude Summer is expecting, she doesn't show it, simply offers a gleaming smile and slides into the other side of the booth.

There's some niceties exchanged concerning the jug of iced water Payson ordered when she sat down, but as Summer busies herself with pouring them both a glass, Payson is busy running through her history with this woman. It's almost empty. She'd viewed Summer's presence at the Rock with indifference, except when Summer insisted on augmenting the social side. Even then, while Payson resented the forced distraction from gymnastics, she hadn't actually settled her annoyance on Summer as a person. Honestly, she's never given this women enough thought for any real emotion to fester. Until now. Now, Summer has Payson's full attention.

"Payson, I'm so glad you wanted to talk." Summer is one of those people who constantly monitors whomever she is conversing with to see the impact of her words. When she adds, "I thought that after what happened with Sasha today…" it's obvious the trail off is deliberate, waiting to see if Payson will deny or confirm an awareness of events.

Payson has no intention of allowing Summer the satisfaction of conforming to her preferred conversational norms.

"Here's what's going to happen right now." Payson keeps her voice quiet but fixes Summer with a stare of such cold ferocity that the older woman sits up straighter in her seat. "I am going to talk and you are going to listen, then I'm going to go back to my room and you are going to sit there until you accept what i've said."

"Payson…"

"No, you don't talk, you've done enough of that." Payson pauses, then amends her statement. "Actually, no, you can answer one question for me. How did you think attacking Sasha would _help_ any of us?"

"I…" This exchange has so far not gone at all how Summer expected, and Payson isn't about to let up long enough for her to regain her footing.

"I mean, that's what you were trying to do, right? Help. That's what you've always said as justification for involving yourself in everyone else's business, isn't it? 'I was just trying to help'."

"Okay, I admit things got a little out of hand this morning but…" Summer stammers, unconsciously raising palms of surrender. She trails off at the end of the sentence but Payson doesn't jump in, instead leaving the silence long enough to become awkward, again refusing to let Summer control things.

"A big part of Christianity is recognising when others are suffering, isn't it?"

"Excuse me?" Summer starts at the sudden segue.

"That's how you know someone needs your help, right? You can see that they're suffering?" Payson retrieves her glass without moving from her seemingly relaxed posture against the soft sofa back.

"Well, I suppose, partly, maybe…" Summer frowns, jumping between possible answers and missing her landing on all of them.

"Do I look like i'm suffering?" Payson accents the query by sipping her water.

"Payson…" Summer visible squirms and Payson experiences a spark of triumph she's careful not to display.

"You seem to be very preoccupied with helping me, so I must appear like i'm suffering in some way, right?" Payson does move this time, as she pretends to think, sliding forward in a graceful rearrangement of limbs as she replaces her glass on the table, and props an elbow to allow her chin to fit neatly in her palm. "Only I don't think i've displayed any signs of suffering, so maybe," Payson takes another sip of water, and doesn't look at Summer as she suggests, "maybe you recognised my worry for Sasha."

When Payson glances up, Summer seems to have recovered her equilibrium. "Your feelings toward him have become quite obvious to me, yes," she states, voice not quite as cold as Payson's but definitely aiming toward that temperature. Maybe that's why Payson feels a sudden spike of fire inside.

"And the way you thought you would help me to deal with this worry was to corner a man in obvious pain and make accusations designed to hurt him further."

"Oh, Payson, I never wanted to hurt anyone." Coldness is thawed with sentiment that Payson doesn't believe.

"Then why didn't you just leave us alone?" For the first time Payson slips up, emotion wobbling her voice as she recalls Sasha's expression after she'd retrieved his scattered pills.

"Because I think you're too close to this situation to see the dangers in what you're doing," Summer says, elbows on the table, hands clasped in semi prayer position.

"So this isn't about helping me, is it? Not really."

"Of course it is."

"No." Payson wants to shout so she forces her voice quieter. "This is about you believing your faith gives you the right to force your moral opinions into other people's lives."

Summer's blue eyes flare, though she tries to temper her obvious annoyance with a very calm, "my faith has nothing to do with this."

"Really?" Payson raises her eyebrows. "Because I don't remember you being concerned for my welfare before you thought I was having sex with Sasha."

In the subsequent silence, the bubbling hum of other patrons conversing intrudes for the first time. Payson veers her attention away from Summer to quickly check there are no journalists attempting to eavesdrop.

"Payson, I think..."

"Although, maybe you're right." When Payson has satisfied herself their presence is of interest to no one, she pretends Summer isn't mid sentence and continues talking. "Maybe this isn't about faith and you judging my life choices. Maybe this is because the man you think i'm sleeping with is Sasha. Maybe if it were Marty you thought I was having sex with, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Clearly Payson has made too many references to sex in the past few minutes because Summer has suddenly taken on her 'marriage is sacred' demeanor. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion when you've calmed down a bit."

Payson allows herself what she's certain Kelly would refer to as the smuggest of shit-eating grins. "What makes you think i'm not calm right now?"

Summer, not appreciating the humour, flinches even more prim. "It's been a long day and…"

"Summer," Payson's rubs the back of her hand over her forehead, "I've been putting in long days since I was seven years old, you don't have to worry about me being overtired and needing a nap. But," she holds up a palm to still Summer's reply, "I think we're pretty much done here anyway. As long as you realise that whatever you had with Sasha is over, and if you want to help either of us, you can do that by leaving us alone." She packs force into the final three words.

Summers brow crumples further, unable to accept Payson's statement. "But, Payson, you have to understand, I have a duty of care…"

"No, you don't," Payson jolts forward, eyes suddenly ablaze. "You have zero connection to me or Sasha. You want duty? You're so desperate to help someone? Help Lauren." With that teeth gritted instruction, Payson slides out of the booth and stands.

Summer looks up at her with confusion. "Where are you going?"

"Like I said, i'm going back to my room and you're going to sit there until you accept what i've said. And in case you get confused, I'll make it simple: Stay away from me, and stay away from Sasha. Goodbye, Summer." Payson spins away the second the last syllable leaves her lips. By the time she has reached the archway leading back into the main atrium, she has dismissed every thought of Summer Van Horne.

* * *

"You totally mic dropped that bitch!" Kelly crows, raising her arms in delighted triumph. "Sister Mary I Just Got Bitchslapped!"

"There was no slapping," Payson corrects, pulling the sheets back and climbing into bed.

"There will so be slapping in how I'm gonna tell the story," Kelly says, rolling onto her side to face Payson across the thin gully between their mattresses.

"You will not be telling this story. To anyone." Payson punches her pillow into position to accentuate the warning.

Kelly is unfazed. "Not directly, no, but come on, an urban myth insinuating you killed a nun? That's psychological gold! Sister Mary Why Yes, That Is Payson Keeler's Handprint on my Face."

"I am not listening to you."

"Sister Mary Sleeps with the Fishes."

"How about 'Kelly go to sleep before _you're_ the one sleeping with the fishes?'"

"I thought you weren't listening to me?" Kelly grins smugly.

"Shut up." Payson flicks off the bedside lamp, but not before noticing an addition to the tiny mascot propped up against it. "Nice necklace, Bear," she says to the grey good-luck teddy being dwarfed and half hidden by a medal ribbon and bronze disc.

"You're not the only one who can give their medal away," Kelly says, through the dark. "Which is funny," she continues after a pause, "if you ignore the fact the only person I have to give my medal to isn't actually a person. Or alive in any way."

"Kelly," Payson murmurs, looking at the shadowy outline of her friend just visible in the lights sneaking past the edge of the closed balcony curtain.

"Pity's pity even if I can't see it, Keeler," Kelly sighs, flopping onto her back with a giant sigh.

The contented atmosphere of a few moments prior has evaporated, the nighttime silence now heavy rather than peaceful.

"You know what I was thinking about while you were off schooling Sister Mary Bunny Boiler?" Kelly says, after awkward minutes where neither mistake the quiet for sleep.

"What?" Payson shuffles around on her side to get comfortable, both hip sockets popping in a way that would make non-gymnasts wince.

"I'm never going to win an all-around Olympic medal."

Payson stills, chest suddenly very tight. She opens her mouth, then bites back the obvious reassuring platitudes - "You don't know that. There's still time to rehab your ankle." - because she respects Kelly too much to surrender to the easy lie.

Kelly's shadow sits up, twisting away from Payson, head bowed.

"I keep wondering if I should have just waited it out with my mom. Put up with her until I was eighteen." Outside, a flurry of car horns erupt. Kelly waits for them to quiet before she continues. "The lawsuit, the coaching changes, it all wiped out 2007 for me, screwed up any shot I had of making Beijing."

Payson has no idea what to say. She can't imagine the decisions Kelly has had to make, both professionally and personally.

"Oh well." False bravado lines Kelly's nonchalance as she drops back onto her bed. "Guess I'm destined to be one of those forgotten mid-cycle world champs who peaked at the wrong time and couldn't hack it on the big stage."

Payson swallows. "You know that's not true."

"Isn't it?" A crack creeps into Kelly's voice.

"Your career isn't over."

"Part of it is."

Payson shuts her eyes. The ultimate prize in their sport is the Olympic all-around gold medal. What kind of consoluation can she offer to the reality that Kelly can no longer compete for, let alone win, that accolade? Especially while it remains a possibility for herself.

"You can still win an Olympic gold," Payson tries. "Okay, it might not be the one you planned but for…"

There's a very long pause, the only sounds in the room Kelly's brutally choked down sobs.

"You know I usually hate glass-half-full people, right, Keeler?" Even through tear-filled sniffs, Kelly's sarcasm can make Payson smile.

"So i'm the exception that proves your rule?" Payson breathes slowly, trying to relax her throat.

"I'd say yes, only that tiny little weirdo Beth seems to have snuck under the radar, too."

The friends shared laughter is tear stained but punctures the tension that was nearing suffocation point. Through the partly open balcony door, a snaking breeze carries the rush of the sea. Payson can just make out the curved edge of the bronze medal sitting on the nightstand.

"I'm not giving up on you yet, Parker," she promises.

Hesitation, then a hand reaches toward her. Payson meets it's slightly shaking fingers and holds tight.


	49. Chapter 49

**CHAPTER FORTY NINE**

Rio this morning is cool, with wispy clouds flowing down from the looming mountains. Eager to get some air, Payson takes the long route back from the pool, where she swam warm down laps after a hard cardio session in one of the hotel's many gyms. It takes her on an outdoor walkway around the back of the immense complex, facing out onto the ocean.

Checking her watch, Payson realises she's ten minutes ahead of schedule, so decides a diversion is allowed. Rather than continuing on the walkway, she trots down the steps to the large bathing area, where empty sunloungers surround three turquoise pools of varying shape, light rays creeping through the cloud cover turning their ripples into streaks of gold.

She edges round the loungers and cabanas to the edge of the tiled expanse, where a sturdy balustrade follows the natural curve of the rocks, protecting patrons from the sharp drop to the private beach below.

Payson leans on the barrier, staring out at the curved horizon. A couple of swimmers draped in towels appear at the top of the steps that lead down to the beach, flipflops spattering seawater and sand onto the white ceramic. They offer Payson a smile as they pass, hand in hand.

A shaft of warm sunlight punctures the grey cloud and Payson turns her face up to its warmth, glitter sparkles dancing behind her closed eyelids. She sighs, wishing she and Sasha could be like that couple and go for a dip in the ocean. She sighs again, with annoyance this time, when her daydream is interrupted by phone pips.

 _I've been trying to get hold of Kelly. Could you ask her to call me? Thanks, Marty_

Fantasy entirely ruined, Payson pockets her phone, shoulders her bag, and gives the ocean one final longing glance.

 _Probably for the best,_ Payson tells herself as she tracks back through the hotel. _Sasha couldn't get his cast wet anyway._

Music is pulsing from under the bathroom door when she enters her room, along with the grind of the automatic shower and Kelly's caterwauled version of the KPop song 'I Am The Best', which Payson has been forced to listen to all week.

"Marty's been trying to call..!" Payson starts to shout the message but swiftly gives up; Kelly's decibel level is rising with every"bam ratatata tatatatata!" she croons.

Dropping her bag on her bed, Payson checks the notebook sitting open on her vanity unit. She ticks off 'cardio' and 'swim', then focuses on the next item on the todo list: 'pick AA leo'.

The qualification and team leotards are out being cleaned, leaving five out of the seven designs for Payson to flip through. The red body with the blue sleeves they wore for podium training is immediately out; too much bad karma. The purple, Payson has already decided to save for day two of event finals. As much as she really doesn't want to, she should probably discuss this with Lauren; it's tradition - though not required - for the all-around representatives to wear the same leotard.

Grimacing, Payson steps away from the closet, plucks out her phone, and taps out a quick:

 _Which leo were u thinking 2moro?_

There was a time when Payson would expect to get back a few inappropriate comments about Kaylie's brother, punctuated by a long line of emojis. She tries to ignore the slight sliver of regret when all that appears when she clicks open Lauren's reply is:

 _Me = hot pink U = NOT hot pink_

"Fine, you look like the walking highlighter pen," she mutters, tossing her phone over her shoulder just as it chirrups again.

"Alright already! I won't wear the damn pink!" Payson snaps, retrieving the phone, ready to let loose on Lauren and her tenuous grasp of written english, but the name blinking up from the screen is Becca. At once, Payson's anger vanishes as Becca's picture message appears: it's a photo of their living room and, in the centre, Phoebe is sitting on the hearth rug, holding up one paw as if offering to shake hands, while Becca points at her with delight.

 _Look what i taught her to do!xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

"What are you smiling at?" Kelly asks when she exits the bathroom, scrubbing her wet hair with a towel.

"Just texting Becca," Payson says, still grinning. "She taught Phoebe to shake hands."

Kelly stops, drops her now wet towel on the floor, and offers Payson a look of disgust. "So not only did that mutt ruin my brand new luggage set with teeth marks, now it's gonna paw mud all over me every time I say hello?"

"Since when do you say hello to Phoebe?" Payson picks up the towel and chucks it on Kelly's bed.

"Missing the point, Keeler." Kelly swipes Payson's hairbrush from the neat row of hair products and accessories lined up on the vanity.

"Check your phone, Parker." Payson snatches back the hairbrush she spent ten minutes earlier picking brown hair out of.

They share an attempted glare, both trying to fight the urge to smile. It's a relief to joke around after the seriousness of their late night conversation.

"Oh god, not that damn notebook again." Kelly exaggerates an eyeroll as she retrieves her phone, nodding toward Payson's todo list book.

Payson opens her mouth to defend the vital organisational value of her lists, but closes it again on seeing Kelly check her messages. All amusement has vanished from her friend's face.

"Didn't want to speak to him?" Payson ventures, guessing that Marty's text messages and calls are being ignored rather than not getting through.

Kelly doesn't answer, just smacks her phone down on the dresser, screen first, and turns away.

Payson decides now is good time to rinse out her swimsuit.

* * *

Sasha would never describe himself as an indoor person - there's a reason why when he moved to America he picked a cabin in the woods as his home - and after two days trapped in a small hotel room, he's even less likely to offer such boast. Though the corridor is full of the same recycled air as his room, he takes a deep breath anyway, feeling some of his claustrophobia fall away. His destination may only Beth's room, but at least it's four new walls to look at.

It takes him an embarrassingly long time to take the twenty paces between their room doors, but he forces himself to keep a slow, even stride, rather than satisfying an absurd testosterone fueled urge to jog, just to prove he can.

He knocks a couple of times and waits. His watch has it just past ten so he thought Beth would be in, but it's not like he's familiar with the girls schedule anymore; Marty probably changed that too. He knocks again. Still no sound of movement from the other side of the door.

The ding of the elevator bell is quickly followed by a babble of chatter that Sasha can identify without needing to turn round. He does anyway, his face already schooled into a calm smile to greet Kaylie and Lauren.

"Sasha!" Health radiates from Kaylie as she hurries up the corridor to offer a brief but welcoming hug. "How're you feeling?" Her face crumples with genuine concern as she peers up at him through wide, brown eyes.

"Fighting fit," he assures, but when Kaylie folds her arms and raises her eyebrows he adds a conspiratorial "well, nearly."

Kaylie is about to say something when Lauren, sullenly leaning against the wall, studying her nails with a 'couldn't care less' attitude, says "if you're looking for Beth, she's probably in Payson's room."

"Thanks, Lauren, I'll check there then." He smiles, even though she won't look at him.

Despite his fractious dealings with her father, and the contentious nature of her relationship with Payson, Sasha feels no animosity toward this girl, only a palpable regret for being unable to aid her in fulfilling her potential. He just hopes that though he has not been able to help her, he hasn't done her any harm.

"It's good to see you looking so well, Kaylie." He nods at his former national champion as he moves to leave the pair.

Kaylie smiles and starts to reply, but a glance at Lauren and she stills her words, offering Sasha an apologetic shrug. Sasha understands; he has no place in the lives of these girls anymore, apart from joining them in regret for decisions they wish they could do over.

He starts toward Payson's room but, hearing Lauren grumble as she fusses with her room door key, hesitates.

"Lauren?" He expects no reply and doesn't get one. "Coming out of your pirouette? I know you're focused on hand position but make sure to keep your legs locked. Do that and you'll be fine." He glances back but Lauren is staring at her door handle. Kaylie shoots him another silent apology

A few steps of his bare feet and he's in front of Payson's door. He's about to knock when he hears his name called. He turns, sees Lauren framed in the black silhouette of her now open door. His heart clenches at the wideness of her eyes, the honesty that she finds so very difficult to trust to anyone.

"Thank you, Sasha." Her lip trembles, and god, if he could only go back and do things differently.

"Take care, Lauren," he wishes, with all truth, but she's already disappeared into her room, and his words are heard only by the empty hallway.

* * *

"Were we expecting you?" The door cracks open a sliver and half of Payson's face appears, along with her snooty question. However, Sasha isn't given an opportunity to question her suddenly posh British accent because she breaks character almost immediately, laughing as she opens the door fully and waves him in. "Since Kelly treats me like a butler, I thought I'd act like it," she explains.

"Though I'd love to haul my ass across the room whenever some random knocks on the door, alas, I am injured," Kelly laments from her seat by the vanity unit, where she is pinning her slightly damp hair into bunches. "And my current mode of transportation has been stolen." She scowls at the reflection catching in the periphery of her mirror.

Beth is by the open balcony, holding all her weight on the forearm handles of Kelly's crutches so she can lift her legs clean off the ground and make like she is running in midair.

"Hey Coach!" she greets.

"Hey Beth," Sasha raises a hand in greeting, as Payson shuts the door behind him.

"You sleep okay?" Payson keeps her voice low, and puts her back to her friends. Sasha follows her lead and positions himself in the bathroom doorway, adding to the semblance of privacy.

"Out like a light," he assures. "You?"

"Yeah, I was knackered." Payson's eyes sparkle as she deliberately butchers the British colloquialism to make him smile.

"But?" Sasha threads their fingers together, noting the tension in Payson's stance. Her eyes change.

"I spoke to Summer last night." It's said very quietly but with a touch of defiance, as if Payson is expecting him to react badly.

"Spoke to Summer about what?"

Payson looks at him, a little incredulous, and Sasha's medication fogged brain finally makes the connection to what happened yesterday. He's annoyed at himself for not realising it immediately.

"Defending my honour?" It comes out with more of an edge than he intended.

"Just giving her some advice." Payson grips his fingers tighter and glares. "Don't pretend you wouldn't have done the same had roles been reversed." She's a foot shorter than him, but her entire body bristles with fierce strength.

Sasha's momentary indignation fizzles away; his bruised ego is not Payson's fault. He raises her fingers to his lips, kissing an apology. "And how did she take it?"

Payson puffs a little with deliberate haughtiness, a smile sneaking in as she says, "I don't think Ms Van Horne will be giving you any more trouble."

Sasha turns his bark of laughter into a cough, remembering Kelly and and Beth's presence. "I could have done with you at school when George Baxter nicked my Thundercats lunchbox." He pulls Payson a little further into the bathroom, then leans down to kiss her temple. He feels her smile bloom.

"Payson Keeler: Bodyguard," she giggles, leaning back to look up at him, hanging on to the drawstrings of his hoodie, then pressing to her toes to peck his lips.

They share a moment of quiet, just looking at each other.

"Did you come to say hi or did you need something?" Payson asks.

"Actually, I was looking for Beth," he admits. "She's not in her room and Lauren and Kaylie suggested I try here."

"You saw Kaylie?" Payson skirts over his mention of Lauren. Probably a good idea; Lauren, and by extension further discussion of Summer, would be better left to talk about when they're completely alone.

"You were right; Kaylie looks really well."

"She does, doesn't she?" Payson echoes his own relief, but then tenses. "Don't mention Kaylie to Kelly," she murmurs, glancing over her shoulder as if to check her roommate hasn't had a sudden urge to use the bathroom. "She and Marty are still on the outs and I think it's best to avoid any mention of the Rock, or anyone to do with the Rock."

"Got it," Sasha nods. "What time do you have to be at training?"

"Eleven." Payson runs a thumb just under the cut on his jaw; she must be pleased with it's healing because she doesn't scold him for scratching. "So you should probably talk to Beth now."

"I probably should," Sasha agrees, overly serious, and Payson scrunches her nose at him and pokes him in his shoulder. Though it drags on his ribs, he slings an arm round her waist and pulls her to him. She raises to her tiptoes again, so she can look him in the eye.

"You sure you're okay after yesterday?" Playfulness has gone from her expression.

It would be easy to be glib, make light of how close he came to another breakdown after his fight with Summer, but he's sworn to himself that he will be nothing but honest with Payson, no matter how much shame such admittance provokes.

"I'm okay right now." He swallows, hard. "And right now is all I can be certain of."

Payson's gaze has strayed to the scab on his bottom lip. She leans close, and kisses it with infinite tenderness. "Thank you."

They remain, forehead to forehead, for a few seconds, then, with silent agreement, untangle from each other, stepping out of the bathroom into the blazing sunshine washing through the balcony doors.

"And how are the world bronze medalists doing this morning?" Sasha asks, moving toward the warm breeze, smiling at Beth, and trying to read Kelly's expression in the mirror as he passes behind her.

"Aces," Kelly drawls, with enough attitude that Sasha doesn't have to question how her ankle is feeling.

Sasha pads out onto the balcony, the white tiles burning his bare feet, or he suspects they are burning his bare feet; gymnastics has permanently distorted the sensations in his many times fractured toes.

"How about you, Beth?"

"How about me what?" Beth, still propped up on the crutches, but now holding her legs in wolf jump position, twists her head with owl like flexibility to show him her questioning face.

Sasha props his back against the balcony's waist high concrete wall, and folds his arms. "How does it feel to be a World bronze medalist?"

As he hoped, Beth angles the crutches toward him, and hops out on the balcony.

"Can I ask you something?" The earlier clouds have blown through, and Beth closes one eye against the yellow glare of the high sun.

"Of course."

"Would you have told me to do the Amanar or the Produnova in the final yesterday?"

Payson's bed is furthest from the balcony, but, over Beth's shoulder, Sasha sees her pause in checking the velcro straps of her wrist guards in time with his own intake of breath. He meets her eyes for a moment, then focuses back on Beth.

"Well." He chooses his words carefully. "I think I would tell you that I am very proud of your performance yesterday."

This is why he wanted to see Beth, he was concerned that the point five drop between her quali and team scores would play on the girl's mind, despite an outward appearance of disinterest.

Beth looks at the ground, alternates pressing tiptoes of each foot into the tiles. "I can do the Produnova."

"I know you can."

"Coach Walsh didn't think I could." Her tone is neutral enough that it seems just a passing observation, but there is a depth in Beth's eyes where Sasha can see the tinge of self-recrimination.

There's a clatter, as Kelly drops something on her dresser.

"I'm sure Coach Walsh knows how capable you are of the Produnova. He was just going with different tactics; it was no reflection on your abilities."

Beth raises her head and studies Sasha's face. Again, she has one eye closed against the sun.

"Coach?" she says, seemingly finding the answer she was looking for in Sasha's expression, though he has no idea what it might have been.

"Yes, Beth."

"You know how you got fired from everything?"

Kelly snorts, loudly, then clamps a hand over her mouth and glares at everyone's reflection as if that will make them forget her unladylike reaction.

"Yes, Beth." Sasha just about manages to control his own amusement, though he can see Payson silently chuckling as she zips a national team jacket over her shorts and training leotard.

"That means you and Payson will be training at a different gym than the Rock, right?" Beth finally lifts her arms from Kelly's crutches and carefully props them just inside the balcony door.

"Pretty sure Steve Tanner will have me under a 'shoot on sight' order, so yeah, we'll be training at a new gym."

Beth cocks her head as she thinks. "Do you think there might be room for me to train there too?"

Shouts and splashes waft up from the hotel pools below. Sasha glances down. From this height, the revelers are just black dots against aquamarine.

"But your coach is in Kansas," he says slowly. "Once she's back from maternity leave, that is."

"I know. But she wouldn't be if she were you. Because you'd be in Colorado." Beth perches on the side of Kelly's bed, not bothering to moves the stacks of crumpled clothes out the way.

"Beth," Sasha starts, moving away from the wall.

"Will you be my coach all the time?" Beth peers beseechingly up at him. "I didn't know if I had to put it in writing. But I did. The letter's in my room, do you want to read it?" She makes to stand but Sasha stills her with a gesturing palm.

"Not right now," he says, at the same time Payson asks, "is that what you wanted the fancy stationery for at the gift shop last night?"

Beth glances back at Payson, with a proud smile, but, before Sasha can even begin to formulate an answer to her request, Kelly turns on her stool to look at him directly for the first time since he entered the room.

"So this theoretical gym that you, Payson, and Toto over there are training at. Would there be room for a ex-world champ who craves one last shot at glory? I mean, even if I can't win the all-around, a little bird reminded me there are other Olympic gold medals up for grabs." She shifts her intense gaze to Payson, who steps round the end of her bed and comes to stand beside her.

"Girls." Sasha coughs the sudden emotion from his voice. "I'm touched that you would want me to be your coach but, at the moment, apart from my coach's license, I have literally no assets to offer you. You're both at great gyms with world class coaches..."

"I'm not," Kelly interrupts.

All present had suspected Kelly wouldn't be joining Marty at the Rock, this is just confirmation. Payson squeezes her shoulder, then sits beside Beth.

Sasha finds himself on the receiving end of three sets of stares, each coloured with different emotions. He looks away, blinking and trying to think, suddenly feeling a unwelcomely familiar urge for something to clear his still pain affected brain.

"Pikes' isn't a long term option, neither is the Rock - obviously - and we haven't had the chance to look into other facilities. It was something we were going to do when we got home," Payson explains, and Sasha is both grateful and relieved that she recognised that he needs a moment to reinforce his mental shields.

"Then I guess it's lucky for all of us that I'm good with ideas," Kelly says, watching the exchange with a intuitiveness that reminds Sasha that she - and Beth - are aware of his relationship with Payson. He suddenly feels very awkward.

"I haven't said yes yet," he coughs, and again feels annoyed at himself because there was a harsh bent to that sentence he didn't intend.

"Yet," Kelly latches on to the caveat, unoffended.

Rubbing the back of his neck, focusing on stilling his suddenly fast heart rate, Sasha doesn't notice that he's biting at his lower lip again until Payson is in front of him, placing a stilling thumb over the now bloody skin. He blinks, breathes, and watches her fetch her vanity unit stool and place it next him, a hand to his shoulder easing him to sit. She returns to her seat beside Beth without making comment.

"Neither of us have a problem with it, you know?" Kelly tells him.

"We've got your backs," Beth pitches in, offering an encouraging smile.

"So you can't use being in love with Payson as reason not to coach us." There's a wicked gleam to Kelly's expression which she shifts from Sasha to Payson.

"Not at all unsubtly put, Parker." Payson's sarcasm makes Beth giggle.

"None of us have time for subtlety, Keeler," Kelly says, haughtily, then pins her determination back on Sasha. "How about it, Belov? Don't tell me the opportunity to coach three potential gold medalists for your home Olympics doesn't float your boat just the slightest?"

"He's got a boat?"

"Not a real boat, Beth," Payson explains, as Kelly's entire face tics.

While Payson leads her teammates into a playful squabble he knows she's engineering to give him time to think, Sasha eases himself to his feet and returns to the balcony, this time propping his elbows on the wide sill as he surveys the bay.

To train three gymnasts of Payson, Beth, and Kelly's calibre would be the highlight of any coach's career. To do it for a London Olympics would be a hard offer to refuse.

"Has a way with words, doesn't she?" Payson leans on the barrier beside him, squinting out at the light dazzled ocean.

"It's your decision too." Sasha closes his eyes, inhaling the saltwater scent of the turning tide.

"I'm in if you are."

From behind them, Kelly's voice cancels out the call of the gulls riding thermals around the hotel tower. "No, we will not be training on a cruise ship!"

Sasha presses his smile into Payson's hair.

* * *

There's a change up in their training sessions now that the team events are done.

Since it's the only event final she's both qualified for and been selected, Kelly's focus is all on bars, working through elements and connections to try and squeeze out as many tenths as she can, a contingency against her ankle possibly giving way during dismount and deducting a hop or a step's worth of points. Jules is assisting, hoisting her on and easing her off the apparatus to remove any jarring on the fragile joint. The dismount itself, Kelly doesn't do at all on competition surface, instead heading to a different training room that houses the foam pits and practicing it there.

Just as she ignored his calls and texts, Kelly is ignoring Marty in person too, and he respects her need for distance and allows Jules to take the lead. Payson watches the contrition haunting his features as he watches Kelly hop her crutches through the jacked open door, and cannot help compare it to what she has glimpsed a few times on Sasha's face when he looks at Lauren.

Beth, participating in both the vault and floor finals, is being assisted primarily by Chris. Payson's not sure if it was Marty or Chris' suggestion, but the familiarity of her rapport with Chris has certainly settled Beth, and her Amanar vaults today have been clean.

It's Lauren who is taking up most of Marty's attention, since Payson he is only offering generic "keep it sharp, Pay" encouragements from a distance - probably from fear his questionable team final choices will be brought up if he gets too close, and that is not where their focus needs to be.

Payson knows what she needs to train - she chatted through her routines with Chris, Jules, and Darby, on the minibus ride over - but she's missing Sasha, his presence and his insights.

She's taking a break from running her tumble passes to make sure she gets the full connection values, when what appears to be Marty's motto of the day rings through the training hall.

"Technique, Lauren!"

Payson glances over at the beam, where Lauren has yet to land her roundoff double pike dismount without a least a point three deduction for stepping back.

"My start value on beam is 6.7, Marty! Can we please move on to bars already?" Lauren, as ever missing the point that execution scores are just as vital as degree of difficulty, waves off Marty's legitimate critique and jogs away, Darby at her heels.

That Darby medalled at an olympiad is an achievement Payson will never fail to give proper respect, and, yes, she had some salient comments to offer regarding Payson's beam routine earlier, but still, Payson is annoyed with the retired gymnast for continuing to act like Lauren's upgrading d-score on bars and floor a few days before an all around competition, rather than concentrating on clean execution of existing routines, will give her a credible medal shot.

But if Lauren won't take advice from her new club coach, she certainly won't take it from Payson.

"You want me to spot you on bars?" Hayley asks, approaching Payson. Though she made no individual finals, Hayley volunteered to help her teammates during today's session.

"Thanks, but I think they're taken right now," Payson says, watching Lauren warm up with a couple of swings. "Imma go grab a drink, do you want anything?" She points at the pile of bags by the wall.

But Hayley isn't listening. She's staring at the bronze medal clutched in her hand. Payson's pretty sure Hayley slept wearing it last night.

"I still can't believe it, you know?" Hayley says, almost in awe.

"Me either," Payson agrees, though - and she hopes this doesn't make her arrogant - her own incredulity is probably due to not having a free moment to process her achievement; she suspects that Hayley can't believe it because she never truly thought she would win any World Championship medal.

"Totally makes my decision to transfer to NCAA easier," Hayley continues, buffing the edge of the bronze disc with her jacket sleeve.

"You're transferring?"

Hayley nods, unfazed by Payson's surprise. "I've had offers from UCLA, Florida, and Oklahoma. I mean, I might have done nationals again, but it's an Olympic year, and I know my body's not capable of the upgrades I'd need to make the squad." She talks of her shortcomings with no hint of frustration or regret. It's a magnanimity Payson hopes she'll be able to emulate once her own international career draws to a close.

"And winning a worlds medal is more than I thought i'd ever achieve at this level, so it seems the right time to give the college scene a try."

"Which school is your first choice?"

"Florida. Though my mom says I probably shouldn't pick a college just because I like the team nickname." She grins.

"Gators, right?" Payson checks, grinning too.

"Chomp, chomp!" Haley holds her arms straight out in front and slaps her hands together like alligator jaws.

"It's a great team," Payson says, but Hayley has become distracted by her medal again, so Payson leaves her soon to be ex-teammate and goes to fetch a drink.

After chugging down some water and a protein pouch, Payson checks her phone. If she'd done that when Sasha was in charge, her phone would currently be sailing toward the nearest open window. Marty, however, is too preoccupied to notice her infraction.

 _Honey, after practice do you and Sasha want to meet me for dinner? Xx_

Kim's text should be totally normal - the three of them used to eat dinner together all the time back in Boulder when Sasha bought Payson home after a practice - but nothing is normal anymore and, though Payson hates doing it, she mentally questions her mom's motivation for the invitation.

Still, there's only one answer she can really give.

 _Sounds great mom! xx_

* * *

Kim arrives at the restaurant ten minutes prior to when she and Payoson agreed to meet. She's spent the afternoon killing time and has exhausted all the hotel's possible distractions, down to staring at the large marine fish tanks on the second floor for half an hour.

It's not that she's nervous, more that she's unsettled. Every conversation she has had with Mark and Becca since Sunday night has been an exercise in lying by omission. It's necessary - there's no way she could explain the situation to her husband over the phone - but guilt is weighing on her. Not to mention every time she has to hand over her credit card, she's waiting for it to be declined. A round trip to Rio and stay at a luxury hotel was not in the budget.

The restaurant Kim's chosen is the hotel's fish bistro, certain Payson will be able to find a protein heavy dish that will both help her recuperate from today's training session, and restore her energy reserves for tomorrow's final. It's located in an offshoot of the hotel's third floor, so picture windows wrap three sides of the dining area. Seated at a round table in the far corner, Kim gazes out at Sugarloaf Mountain rising from the centre of the bay. Dusk is gathering, and the lights of the houses at it's base are starting to wink on, while the tree covered granite peak morphs from green to grey.

"Kim?"

Starting at her name, Kim finds Sasha standing beside the table.

"Sasha. Hi," she greets, working to cover her surprise at seeing him without Payson. She expected them to arrive together.

"Payson's running late," Sasha explains, following Kim's gestured invitation to take a seat.

He's obviously tried to dress smartly but must be on limited clothing means, since he's teamed a pair of jeans with an unironed dress shirt, his left cuff hastily rolled up to accommodate his bulky cast.

"How's….?" Kim begins to say "your face" but opts for making a motion at the general area above his shoulders.

"It's...it's better than it was," Sasha nods vigorously, wearing an apologetic frown as if it was his fist and not hers that caused the extra bruising still visible under one eye.

"Good. That's good." Kim takes a swig from the iced water she ordered when she first down. She'd wanted a large glass of wine, but realised that an alcoholic beverage might not be the most prudent choice.

"Yeah. Good," Sasha echoes.

For a tall man, Kim is surprised at how small Sasha can make himself. He's hunched over, eyes darting between the picture windows and the open menus on the table, and the level of tension in his frame cannot be comfortable considering his injuries. A cruel notion streaks through Kim's mind: she could simply sit in silence until Payson arrives and let Sasha squirm with crippling awkwardness. She's a little ashamed when it takes her a few moments to dismiss the plan.

"So, this is awkward, huh?" There is no benefit in torturing Sasha and, when he looks up, Kim further tries to sooth the tension with a half smile.

Sasha appears to breathe for the first time since he sat down. "Just a bit." He aims for a smile too, but it filters out when he says, "I owe you an apology, Kim, and I…"

Kim stops him with a raised palm. "I don't think apologies are what we need right now." The words may be harsh but her tone isn't. "Look, I'm not going to pretend i'm happy about the situation, but I respect Payson, and that respect extends to the choices that she makes about her life. And she's chosen you."

It has taken Kim most of the day to precis her feelings into a coherent description. Though difficult, the honesty with herself that it has required has been therapeutic.

Sasha's tension levels have ratcheted back up. He is staring unseeing out the back window, and Kim is reminded of Sunday night, the haunted notes in his voice and expression when he had tried to earn forgiveness through confession.

"And I will do everything in my power to be worthy of her choice."

Kim isn't sure who Sasha's swearing the oath to, but he seems to realise that her daughter's love and trust are gifts to be treasured.

"Thank you," she says, coughing sudden emotion from her voice. "But, while I respect Payson's choices, she's still my daughter and I need you to be honest with me about something."

Sasha shifts all his attention to Kim, unhunching slightly as if readying to leap out the window if that's what she requires. "Anything."

Strangely, his complete acquiescence makes her unsure about what she's about to ask.

"Your health issues are your own business and I know I'm being very intrusive when I ask this, but," she frowns at the cream tablecloth, determined to get her words right on the first attempt. "I need to be sure Payson will not be a crutch in your recovery. I don't want her to have to shoulder that burden."

She blows the air out of her cheeks, feeling like she just dived off a high platform.

Sasha's scars crumple as his brow furrows. He's spending as much time in selecting the correct words as Kim did. She waits, resisting the urge to hand him a napkin; he's worrying his lower lip into bleeding.

"Nothing's certain yet," he says eventually, "but Jake is looking into rehab facilities for me in the Colorado area. It won't be a twelve step program or anything like that."

A hint of disdain crosses his mouth; Kim can imagine how a reliance on God would hardly be a helpful maxim for an agnostic like Sasha.

"It'll be behavioural therapy with additional counselling. I know I have a problem, Kim. But I also know what I need to do to get it under control. Payson is part of my motivation to get better, but she isn't my reason. She can't be. I have to be my own reason."

Incongruously, Sasha seems to be calming. Despite his disbelief in religion, Kim can't help but wonder if he isn't paying some kind of penance with this openness.

"I should have seen a therapist months ago. I recognised the signs but didn't heed them. If Nikolai…" Sasha pauses, momentarily overcome.

Kim feels emotion bubble in her own throat.

Closed eyes and a deep breath and Sasha continues, voice once again even. "I've never quite dealt with his death. I think it's time I did." His gaze drifts to the window.

"Sasha…"

"But to answer your question," Sasha cuts in, sitting up straighter, and rubbing his nose. "I have no intention of lumbering Payson with any of my baggage."

"Though I don't think either of us can promise she won't rip it out of your hand and claim she's strong enough to carry it." Kim's smile is both proud and sadly weary.

Sasha huffs a laugh and nods. "No shortage of determination, your daughter."

"No." Kim's sitting in a Rio hotel on the eve of the world all-around final with a man clearly besotted, all because of Payson's determination. Her heart is so full of pride and love she can barely breathe.

She'd bet her ticket home that Sasha is feeling the same way.

"Are you ready to order?" A waitress in a crisp navy uniform peers down at them with polite interest.

"Could you give us a few more minutes? We're waiting for someone." Sasha recovers first while Kim is still fumbling round in her purse for a tissue.

"Of course." The waitress leaves them with a bright but curious smile.

"Probably wondering who I lost a fight with," Sasha says, as Kim dabs her eyes. "Should have told her it was with you."

A joke that would have been met with stolid silence twenty minutes ago brings laughter to Kim's face.

"You realise we've probably got a lot of these awkward but necessary conversations in our future?" Kim sits back in her chair, bemused.

"To awkward but necessary conversations?" Sasha proposes a toast.

"To awkward but necessary conversations," Kim agrees, raising her water glass and clinking it against Sasha's.

The silence is companionable as they wait for Payson, watching the Rio cityscape flush with sepia twilight.

* * *

"And there was no shouting. Like, at all?" Payson peers up at Sasha with a disbelieving frown.

"At all," Sasha confirms, by habit glancing round the elevator car - even though it's obviously empty - before dipping his head to kiss Payson. "Promise."

"Huh," Payson shrugs her mouth. She'd expected pained silence if not outright yelling when she'd hurried into the restaurant half an hour late, but had found her mom and Sasha cordially discussing the plans for him to coach Kelly and Beth.

"Our 'we talk about the awkward stuff' agreement has kinda been extended to include your mum, I hope that's okay?"

Payson's not exactly thrilled to have missed out on the obviously important discussion between her mother and Sasha, but if the only major decision they made on her behalf was keeping the channels of communication open, she can live with it.

"Okay." Payson sneaks in a kiss just as the elevator shudders to a halt on level six.

"I spoke to Drea's brother this afternoon," Sasha says, while the doors open to admit four new passengers and he and Payson shift to the back of the car.

"How's she doing?"

"Doing well, Ryan said. And she wanted to wish you luck for tomorrow."

Behind the backs of the other passengers, Payson shuffles closer to Sasha and tucks a finger round his thumb. It hurts a little to think of Drea.

"She's in the best place," Sasha murmurs, linking their hands together fully.

"I know."

The digital display ticks to thirteen and Payson begrudgingly extricates herself from Sasha's comforting touch. Even when the elevator has gone and they're left in the empty corridor, they keep an appropriate distance between them. There are too many peepholes to risk being any closer.

"I'm sorry we haven't talked much about tomorrow," Sasha says, as they loiter beside the yucca plant.

Payson shakes away her sudden melancholy and shoots a mischievous smirk at Sasha. "Don't worry. Luckily my coach had us prepping months ago."

Sasha tips his head down a fraction, eyes enticingly dangerous. "Sounds like a smart guy."

"He has his moments," Payson winks, then starts toward her room before she ruins their subterfuge by making out with Sasha in the middle of the corridor.

After a comedic groan, Sasha follows.

"Want me to come by in the morning?" he asks, as they reach her room door.

Payson shakes her head. "I'll come to yours. Kelly's been nothing but supportive but I know tomorrow's gonna hurt her and I don't want to make it worse."

"Good idea," Sasha nods. "So I guess this is good night?" He suddenly looks very tired, and the temptation to fold him into her arms is almost overwhelming, but, before Payson can do anything, her room door is pulled open from the inside.

"MJ?" Payson jumps in surprise.

MJ isn't remotely startled. "Payson. Sasha." She nods at them both then shuts the door behind her and turns her attention back to the cell phone in her hand.

"Did we have a meeting?" Payson frowns, wracking her brain.

"No, I'm pretty sure her meeting was with Kelly," Sasha says, with knowing accusation in his eyes.

"Not just a pretty face, are you?" MJ gives him a patronising smile and lightly taps his cheek. "That didn't hurt, so don't even pretend to say ow. And yes, Kelly informs me that you've decided to expand your gymnastics franchise."

"She works fast," Payson says, impressed. "She and Beth only asked him this morning."

"And technically I haven't actually said yes, yet."

MJ ignores Sasha's protest and instead addresses Payson.

"I've already got some irons in the fire concerning training spaces and possible joint sponsors, so you just keep your attention your gymnastics and let me worry about the logistics side of things, okay?"

"Gladly," Payson grins.

"Good." MJ nods. "Right. You," she points at Sasha, "straight to bed and get some healing sleep. Now."

"Have you ever thought about releasing a line of relaxation tapes?"

"Healing sleep!"

"I'll take that as a no." Sasha winks at Payson and lightly squeezes her hip. When he's walked past MJ, he turns and sticks his tongue out at the back of her head.

Payson covers her chuckle with her palm.

"You're not funny," MJ says, over her shoulder.

Sasha flashes his most rakish smile. Payson watches him until he keys into his room and gives her a final goodnight by touching his heart. She returns the gesture with what she knows is a goofy grin. She's so preoccupied, she doesn't notice MJ summon Kelly with a rap on their door.

"Goodnight girls," MJ calls, disappearing up the corridor, phone to her ear, as Kelly steers Payson inside their room.

"Some subtlety please, Keeler. You're killing me here."

"Sorry." Payson flushes a little and hastily tries to change the subject. "So, you called MJ?"

"Again, you are the epitome of subtle," Kelly rolls her eyes as she shuts the room door. "Yes, I called MJ."

"But you hate sports agents," Payson observes, untying her laces and kicking off her sneakers.

Kelly, already in her pyjamas, considers this point as she drags her hair into a low ponytail and swipes an elastic from the stash Payson has already laid out for the final tomorrow.

"True. It's another helpful legacy left by my mother. Authority figures of any kind are on my list of things she prejudiced me against, right between motherhood and chocolate milkshakes."

"Chocolate milkshakes?"

"Don't ask." Kelly shudders as she snaps off the main light, plunging the room into momentary darkness before illuminating the softer bedside lamps. "But, for a sports agent, MJ was surprisingly helpful and not at all sleazy."

"And impressively organised," Payson adds, while changing into her shorts and tshirt. "She says she's already got some ideas for where we can train."

Kelly talks right over Payson's observation. "Keeler, can I ask you something? Gymnast to slightly less impressive gymnast?"

Payson chuckles, fiddling with her watch strap. "When you put it so nicely, how can I refuse."

"I've got this voice in my head - we'll call it my bitch mother - that's telling me i'm making a major career decision based on emotional reasons. I called MJ because, from what I've seen with you working with her, she's got good insights, and she gave me some advice. Now, I want a gymnast's opinion."

"A slightly less impressive gymnast's opinion," Payson deadpans, easing down to sit long frog in the gully between their beds.

"I work with the resources I have at my disposal," Kelly says, loftily, shucking a smug smirk at her friend.

"How kind." Payson is smiling as she shuts her eyes and begins her relaxation breathing.

"So." Kelly flops onto her back and stares at the darkened ceiling. "Do you think i'm right - career wise - in switching to being coached by Sasha instead of going with Marty to the Rock?"

Working on allowing her breath to go all the way to the bottom of each lung, Payson considers the question. It's the first moment she's really had a chance to think about what Kelly and Beth training with them will mean.

"I think," she says, after several minutes contemplation, "that Sasha is much better suited to be the coach you need right now. He's open to collaboration on routines, which Marty isn't. He adjusts his coaching style depending on the gymnast, so how he treats Beth will be very different to how he treats you, or me."

"I wouldn't mind him treating me like you occasionally. You know, to scratch an itch if they're aren't any other eligible men available."

"Parker, do you want my opinion or do you want to talk about trying to hook up with my boy?"

A moment's pause, in which Payson keeps her eyes shut and really hopes Kelly doesn't pick up on the title she just accidentally gave Sasha.

"I want your opinion," Kelly drawls, but her pointed sullenness is suddenly replaced with glee when she adds," and then I want to gloat about getting you to call Sasha 'your boy'!"

"Oh goody," Payson sighs, turning the syllables into a breathing exercise, and waiting for her pulse rate to fall low again before continuing her comparison of the coaches. "Marty has a one-style-fits-all kind of style, which is okay if you're the only elite gymnast in his gym like you were in Denver, but could be an issue when you're sharing him with Kaylie and Lauren. Beth brings a freshness I think would be good for us both, whereas Kaylie and Lauren...there's a lot of history there."

"One word for it," Kelly mutters.

"Also, you working with Steve Tanner? It would be difficult for the NGO to select you for the Olympic squad if you're up on homicide charges."

"All very good points," Kelly says. "You're not as dumb as your hair colour suggests."

"Stop it, Parker, i'm blushing." Payson's sarcasm is wrapped in a sudden yawn. "So can I go to bed now?"

"Why? You got somewhere to be tomorrow?"

Tension catches in Payson's breathing.

"I'm kidding," Kelly assures, leaning off the bed to tap Payson's shoulder. "Don't go all awkward on me, Keeler."

Stretching out her legs, Payson looks up at the current all-around world champion. "At the risk of getting slapped, I just want you to know how sorry I am that you won't be out there with me."

"C'est la vie." Sadness tempers Kelly's smile. "That's french," she adds in a loud whisper.

"I know," Payson whispers back.


	50. Chapter 50

**CHAPTER FIFTY**

"Anddddd, done," Kelly announces, withdrawing the hairspray can she's spent the past five minutes showering over Payson's braided hair.

"Thanks," Payson coughs, waving a hand through the chemical fog.

"So, according to your not at all unnecessary, overly detailed, I clearly need therapy, checklist, that's: makeup, done; hair, set; gym bag, packed; credentials, on." Kelly grabs the lanyard of credit card sized passes and loops it over Payson's head. "Butt glue...Keeler, you seriously put butt glue on this list? Was there a chance you'd forget?"

Payson snatches the notebook. "It's called being thorough."

"It's called being obsessive."

They've kept things deliberately light this morning, Kelly fussing round Payson like she's sending her off on the first day of school, Payson passively following instructions, but both are well aware of the unspoken reality pressing down on the room. In a few hours, Kelly will no longer be the world all-around champion and Payson could be.

"I think that's everything," Payson says, scanning the room for any hint that something has been forgotten.

"Yup." Kelly holds up the bulging rucksack so Payson can slip her arms through the straps. "And you're sure your don't want to wear one?"

"A pin that says 'Ellen Beals Sucks'? Yeah, don't think that would go over well with the NGO." Payson smirks over her shoulder.

"Damned political correctness," Kelly laments. "Now," she spins Payson round to face her, "let me look at you."

"You gonna check my teeth?" Payson jokes, even though her stomach knots at how hard Kelly is trying to hide her disappointment that she too is not getting ready to compete.

"I'll leave that to, _Lolo_."

"So…" Payson says, hooking her thumbs through her backpack straps. She's struggling to maintain her gameday equilibrium and if Kelly wishes her luck she's scared she's going to crumble.

"I don't do movie of the week goodbye scenes, Keeler." Kelly limps to the door and pulls it open. "Now get out, I want to watch TV."

"Yes, Ma'am." If there's a rasp to Payson's voice or a shake in the hand she uses to mock salute her friend as she leaves the room, she hopes Kelly doesn't notice.

The corridor is empty. Payson, hands still looped through her backpack straps, gripping far tighter than necessary, turns to offer a "see you later" to Kelly, but the door is already shutting. Payson will always pretend she didn't catch a brief glimpse of her friend's face, didn't see the tears Kelly has been holding back all morning finally breaking through.

It takes a few minutes for Payson to collect herself. Emotion clouds focus, so she imagines leaving her feelings toward Kelly in a pile at the threshold of their room, to be picked up later when she returns. She repeats the exercise with all her worries about her family.

On her nightstand, where her heart necklace is looped around Bear's paw, she visualises leaving the knowledge that she must medal individually to qualify for the Grrrl Bar bonus which is essential for her family's finances, and the pressure that reality carries. Beside it, she stacks up the worries concerning her father and his reaction to her relationship with Sasha.

When her breathing is calm, and her mind clear, she walks up the hallway to Sasha's room. He opens the door after a couple of knocks and, without verbal greeting, holds it open as invitation to come in.

Payson feels a surge of gratitude and affection for Sasha recognising her demeanor and adjusting his own to match.

"Anything you need to talk through?" Sasha stands in front of her, arms folded, expression professional.

"I'm focused on hitting not winning." Payson repeats the strategy they agreed on right after trials. "Just remind me why again."

"You're wondering why we didn't upgrade certain elements?"

Again, Payson is grateful that Sasha knows her so well, knows that the competitive edge is thrumming through her blood now it's time to fight for a medal.

"You are only a few months on from major experimental back surgery. It would have been counterproductive to push you too hard, too fast, considering our focus is on you peaking in London next year, not here."

"Back surgery; London; proving I can hit under pressure even with the weird crap they pumped into my spine," Payson summarises, logging the points to repeat to herself later, during competition.

"Exactly." A smile tugs at Sasha's mouth.

Payson looks him in the eyes for the first time. Her objectivity flounders. "I wish you were coming with me," she murmurs.

A spasm works across Sasha's jaw but his voice retains its neutrality. "So do I."

It's suddenly too much. Her mind is clouding with memories, with tumultuous emotion.

"You better get down to the lobby." Sasha's voice is close to her ear and Payson realises she's closed her eyes.

After a beat where neither of them move, Payson lunges forward, blind, trusting that Sasha will catch her kiss. He does, hand molding round the back of her neck as their lips press hard together.

"I love you."

She's not sure which one of them says it as, with a wrench, she drags from his embrace and hurries out the room without looking back.

* * *

The world's best twenty-four gymnasts fill the small room, bright colours and rhinestones leaping from every leotard, the tang of hairspray and chalk tinting the air. Payson has found a chair by the back wall, is sitting with eyes closed, both feet firm against the thin mat square of carpet.

"What is taking so long?" Lauren has been pacing in front of Payson for the eleven minutes they've been in the ready room. Her hot pink leotard is accented with rhinestone white swirls and the braids in her hair are threaded through with ribbons of the same colour.

With a nod to at least the appearance of cohesion within the US team, Payson has followed Lauren's pink theme and selected the dark pink leotard with black side panels.

"They'll call us into our group lines in a minute," Payson advises, voice serene as she breathes evenly, not exerting any more energy than it takes to keep her body upright.

"They were supposed to do that, like, ten minutes ago!" Lauren exclaims, her bare feet, taped the same way as Payson's, slap the floor as she moves from pacing to jogging on the spot.

There is no point in telling Lauren to calm down, so Payson simply listens to the chatter that proves just how nervous her teammate is. Since this is an individual and not a team event, Payson has left all her personal animosity for Lauren at the arena entrance. She never hopes that her competition will hit anything but their absolute best on game day.

"Group Four!" Is called from the double doorway. The gymnasts who placed nineteenth to twenty fourth step forward into their assigned order and are waved out of the room.

"Oh my god," Lauren breathes rapidly, knowing that, since she qualified in sixteenth, she is up next.

"Group Three!"

"Good luck," Payson says, finally opening her eyes and standing. She taps Lauren on the shoulder to remind her she needs to join the forming line.

"You too," Lauren flashes her a genuine smile that trembles with nerves, before tipping her chin up and striding toward the competitors who will be starting with her on beam.

Payson hears nothing else, looks at nothing else but the blue floor, until she registers the words "Group One!" She lines up behind Genghi Cho, who offers a slight smile and a nod of the head, and Ivanka, who somehow manages to school her features into respectful contempt which Payson had no idea was possible.

A Worlds official leads the line into the wide outer corridor where the rumbles of the crowd and bass thump of the arena music become immediately audible. Payson, a head taller than Genghi Cho, focuses on the back of Ivanka's head as they are positioned behind the official who will be carrying the sign announcing them as 'Group One'.

Some of the gymnasts are wearing jackets, others have already stripped down to their leotards. Payson gave her jacket to Marty when she handed over her bag for him to carry; he and the rest of the coaches will follow them into the arena.

She had left it up to the team to decide which coach was going to go round with which gymnast. Darby has been assigned to Lauren, and Marty will be going round with Payson. As with Lauren, Payson has temporarily discarded all her personal feelings about Marty; he is Coach Walsh, a man who trained her for two years and is very familiar with her capabilities. When she looks to the end of the line to check he is where he should be, he gives her an encouraging nod.

The groups are announced in ascending order. Payson catches the bright blonde and pink of Lauren's hair and leotard as group three pass by. Then, to the accompaniment of a frenetic dance tune and multi-coloured strobe lights, group one are ushered toward the end of the low ceilinged corridor and led out into the echoing maelstrom of the main arena.

* * *

 _If you can believe it, you are joining us on Women's All Around Finals day. That's right, we are here already._

 _Time goes fast when you're having fun, Tim._

 _Took the words right out of my mouth, Elfie. We've hardly had time to compose ourselves after yesterday's down to the wire finish between Austin Tucker and Japan's Yuto Suzuki that resulted in the American defending his all-around gold!_

 _Fantastic achievement for Austin Tucker and you could see how important it was to him to have girlfriend Kaylie Cruz in the crowd._

 _If you'll remember, had circumstances played out differently, it could have been Kaylie Cruz we were about to watch compete here today._

 _Very true, considering she's an all around National champion. And, if rumours are to be believed, we may be seeing her at the Olympic trials next year._

 _It would be great news to have Kaylie Cruz back in the sport, but let's not take the spotlight off the two girls who are representing Team USA today, Payson Keeler and Lauren Tanner._

 _Payson Keeler qualified third overall with an outstanding 61.1, which is impressive even before you take into consideration that she is only a few months on from back surgery to correct what many thought was a career ending injury at the National Championships._

 _Makes you wonder what she's capable of once she's able to train at a hundred percent injury free, doesn't it?_

 _Sure does._

 _Kelly Parker was of course scheduled to compete here today but was forced to pull out due to the flare up of an old ankle injury._

 _Such a shame for Kelly, who is of course the defending champion, but at least she'll have a chance to compete individually in the bars final._

 _Lauren Tanner steps up to take Kelly Parker's place after she posted a career high score of 59.1 in qualification._

 _Here's hoping she can repeat the success of day one since she dropped nearly two points on her initial score during the team final where the USA captured, what some are calling, a disappointing bronze._

 _Whatever happens, we've got an exciting few hours ahead of us, folks, so don't you go anywhere!_

* * *

The moment her hands connect with the vault horse, Payson knows her layout 1.5 will not be clean. Squeezing her body as tight as possible, she prepares to compensate for the effect her mistaken trajectory will place on landing. She does the best she can, landing only slightly left of the centre line and needing just the one side step to balance.

"Excellent save," Marty says, meeting her at the podium steps.

Payson doesn't answer. She's fighting annoyance at herself for not going clean on a vault she's perfectly capable of nailing, and anger at Marty for making her use the full during the team competition. Having to train both options is the root of her mistake.

Vault is always the shortest event, so Payson shrugs on her training pants and jacket to keep warm. She deliberately faces toward the crowd barricade as she sits on the floor with her legs in a v-position, alternating stretches, so as not to see Cho and Ivanka perform.

A few minutes is all Payson needs to distance her mind from the vault mistake and transfer her total focus to bars. Twisting round, intending to reach for her bag to pull out her wrist grips, Marty is already holding them out for her.

"Still all to play for," he encourages.

He's right; Payson knows her score of 15.75 is a great start, but 15.9 would have been better.

* * *

 _At the end of the first rotation, Payson Keeler is leading the way with a terrific 15.75, ahead of Ivanka Kirilenko who posted a 15.4, and Genghi Cho back on 14.9._

 _By the numbers, Payson was always going to have the advantage on this first apparatus, right, Elfie?_

 _Right, Tim. Neither Genghi nor Kirilenko qualified for the vault event final, whereas Payson posted the second highest qualification mark._

 _Still a great start, though. Remember, this is Payson's first major final, where nerves are always a danger._

 _No sign of those from Payson, that's for sure, but I'm afraid the same cannot be said of her teammate, Lauren Tanner._

 _Despite starting on her favoured apparatus, Lauren suffered an early fall which seemed to wreck her confidence. She managed to complete her routine but a big step on dismount - added to that fall - mean she only scored a 14._

 _Let's just hope she can compose herself for floor._

* * *

Payson has come to terms with the fact she will never be able to look at the uneven bars without remembering Boston. The only thing she has control over is how she reacts to the memory. The fall might have broken her back, but it did not break her. She reminds herself of this as she sprays her sugar water solution on her hands, and then rubs in chalk. She and Marty have just done the same to the bars.

"Don't think, just trust your training," Marty says, giving her shoulder a pat and then moving to stand a short ways back from the apparatus.

Taking up position between the uprights, facing the lowest of the two bars, Payson takes a steadying breath, dips her knees for momentum then throws her weight into the hands she wraps round the fibreglass to launch into her first swing.

Her full pirouette leads into a Pak salto and a series of transitions between the upper and lower bars, and then she builds for her piked Jaeger. She senses Marty's presence beneath her during the mid-air somersault where she makes sure her face brushes her knees, but he disappears when she regains contact with the bar.

She feels a slight leg flare on her stadler but doesn't let it distract from her toe-on circle. Hitting her release spot after one more swing, she flies up into a full twisting double tuck dismount, her feet dropping directly into the mat at such an angle that she requires no step to steady her return to the earth. A double arm raise to the judges signaling the end of the routine and it's done; a lifetime's training condensed into thirty four seconds.

* * *

 _At the halfway point of the competition and we are being treated to some great gymnastics!_

 _Payson Keeler and Ivanka Kirilenko are neck and neck in the race for the gold medal, Ivanka just edging ahead by 0.050._

 _Genghi Cho is holding third spot with 29.7 but you get the feeling this is going to come down to the American and the Russian._

 _Don't count Genghi Cho out just yet, Tim. Remember, she qualified for the beam final with the highest score of the competition, and the beam podium is where our leaders our headed next._

 _Sad to say that Lauren Tanner won't be featuring in the top section of the competition. A disappointing floor routine has left her down in twenty second place._

* * *

As Payson lies in relaxation position and breathes tension from her lower back, she studies the complex configuration of lighting platforms and trusses dangling - in her opinion - somewhat precariously from the high arena ceiling. As she looks, a camera speedily ziplines along a wire, in and out of her sightline. She wonders if she'll be able to identify the shot it's recording when she watches the competition back later.

From the apparatus platform, Payson hears the telltale thud and subsequent crowd groan that signals a gymnast has made an unscheduled dismount from the beam. She closes her eyes, ignoring the mutterings swapping between the competitors around her, and imagines the hard carpet is warm sand and she is on a beach far away.

When Marty alerts her with a shoulder tap, indicating Elena Coman, the gymnast competing just before Payson, is reading to begin, Payson refocuses her attention. She checks her ankle tape while visualising her routine one final time, remembering Sasha's instructions.

" _Concentrate on nailing each spin individually. Don't push for connections you're not certain you can make."_

She and Marty wait at the bottom of the podium and, when Coman dismounts and jogs down the steps, long experience has Payson able to give an acknowledging nod without breaking her focus on the performance she's about to do.

Marty positions the springboard while Payson chalks her hands and then double checks his measurements. She'll be using a round off into a back handspring mount today. She ignores the sudden temptation to use the back handspring full she and Sasha have been working on for London.

" _It's about hitting not winning,"_ she hears Sasha's voice in her head, again, mouths the words, mollifies the competitive instincts inside which are screaming that she could be on parity with Ivanka had she risked upgrades to her routines.

" _It was never the goal to peak here."_ She adds further mental rational as she jogs to keep warm.

" _Trust the decisions we made."_ Sasha may not be by her side, but his influence is just as strong as it would be if he were gripping her shoulders in reassurance.

A salute to the judges and two deep breaths. Payson narrows her world to the four inch wide piece of wood and suede stretching sixteen feet, tips back on one heel, and runs.

* * *

 _And with that slightly unusual beam routine, Payson Keeler has retained second position, scoring 15.1 to bring her total up to 45.95._

 _Unusual in what sense, Elfie?_

 _Not a lot of acrobatic elements in there, Tim, which could well be the result of the relatively short time she's had to prepare for this championships. Very smart of Sasha Belov to build her difficulty with the linking of artistic elements which, if you execute well, as Payson has done, can score just as high as the more acrobatic moves._

 _In this case, a very clean 15.1_

 _Real shame Coach Belov isn't here to see his star gymnast at work._

 _Ivanka still leads, posting an excellent 15.5, bringing her all around score to 46.40._

 _The real surprise of this rotation was Genghi Cho, who only managed a 15 flat. Though she's still in bronze medal position, you suspect that her chances of finishing higher have gone._

 _Unless one of her opponents makes a mistake. It's still pretty tight at the top of the leader board, Elfie._

 _That it is, Tim. We are certainly in for an exciting finish!_

* * *

As the final chord chimes, Payson delicately lays her arms along her outstretched lead leg. There's a second when all she can hear is her laboured breathing, her thumping pulse beat, and then all internal signs of how hard she has pushed her body are buried beneath a surge of applause.

Summoning the last dregs of her energy, Payson gracefully folds out of her finishing position, and waves to the cheering crowd as she jogs across the mat, vision a little blurred. Marty is waiting to hand her a water bottle and, in the guise of a congratulatory arm round the shoulders, lead her down the steps, taking some of her weight while her body recovers.

"That was incredible, Payson," he grins, as he guides them over to the folding chairs.

"Thanks," Payson manages to breathe. Her arms are like lead as she slides them into the jacket Marty is holding up for her. She pushed every ounce of energy into that last tumble run. She doubts now she could even turn a cartwheel.

"So what are the numbers?" she asks, gratefully dropping into a chair. She's been keeping track of her own scores but not her opponents'.

Despite almost nauseous fatigue, Payson perches right on the edge of the seat, shoulders down, head up. A TV camera is pointed at her from a few feet away and she has no intention of appearing anything less than alert and primed.

"Ivanka's on 46.4, Cho on 45.2," Marty says, momentarily stepping in front of the lens to hide the exchange.

Waiting for the judges' score is something Payson has always hated. Her brain wants her to relive and rate every move she just performed, race the officials to predict the score. This time though, all her concentration is being used to fight the sudden nerves that are crawling through her insides.

There's movement at the judges table.

"Here we go," Marty murmurs. Payson doesn't mind when he grips her hand, she's grateful for the anchor.

"Payson Keeler…" the announcer starts, but Payson trusts her eyes more than her ears and she watches the flurrying digital numbers on the big screen instead.

 _Keeler, P._ _15.100_

The main leaderboard updates almost instantaneously.

 **1\. KEELER, P. (USA) 61.050**

 **2\. KIRILENKO, I. (RUS) 46.400**

 **3\. GENGHI, C. (CHI) 45.200**

It's a false positive - Ivanka and Cho have yet to post a floor score - but Payson can't help the momentary elation at seeing her name at the top of the World Championship leaderboard.

"Yes!" Marty grins down at Payson, patting the hand he still has gripped in a fist.

Payson does the obligatory smile and wave at the camera. It's a good score, one she's proud of, but she has no idea what colour medal it will bring her; the numbers are too tight for useful prediction. She imagines Haley saying "this is why I hate math!" and can't help but agree.

Cho is already waiting at the edge of the mat. When she takes up her start pose, Payson looks at the carpet. It's team policy not to watch opponents perform, but Payson has her own reasoning. With the burning need to win alight inside her, she doesn't trust her more rational mind to stop her hoping for Cho to step out of bounds or to sit down a landing, and that is not the type of competitor she wants to be.

"I don't think that's enough," Marty murmurs, when the music ends and applause takes over. He's sitting next to Payson now, elbows on knees, leg jiggling with nerves.

Payson applauds politely, standing when Cho returns to the chairs to give her a quick congratulatory hug. She feels the tiny gymnast's heart thumping with painful speed. Like Payson, Cho left everything she had out on that mat.

The wait seems eternal. Payson sits back down beside Marty, who has just finished his own expected pleasantries by shaking the hand of the Chinese coach.

When the score comes, Payson keeps her focus on the main leaderboard, hoping she doesn't see Genghi Cho's name move above her own.

 **1\. KEELER, P. (USA) 61.050**

 **2\. GENGHI, C. (CHI) 60.200**

 **3\. KIRILENKO, I. (RUS) 46.400**

It takes great restraint for Payson to keep the shout of exhilaration inside, to modify her excitement so as not to be seen as obnoxiously celebrating Cho coming up short, to not fall victim to being one of those athletes who prematurely rejoice at winning gold, and have to cope with embarrassment and self-imposed disappointment when they come away with a lesser prize.

Ivanka's music, like the gymnast herself, is unnervingly fierce, and the booming cello introduction makes Payson jump. She can't sit down this time, the tension is too great.

She looks to the south stand. There's no way she'll see her mom, Payson knows that, but it gives comfort that there is someone else in the arena who is just as, or even more, anxious than herself.

The crowd is creating an atmosphere more intense than Payson has ever experienced, eager fans ecstatic that the competition has come down to this final rotation, this final routine. She watches them, a massive wave of colour and noise, come to their feet, seemingly as one, when Ivanka's music ends with a symphonic flourish.

Goosebumps break out all over Payson's body.

The next minutes seem to happen in flashes: Ivanka striding down from the podium; an exchange of high fives with her competitors; the crowd roaring for a result while the judges deliberate; gripping Marty's hand hard enough to bruise as she stares unblinkingly at the scoreboard.

There is a rush of cheers from somewhere. The result must be on it's way. When the digital scoreboard starts it's rearrangement of letters and numbers, Payson stops breathing.

 **1\. KIRILENKO, I. (RUS) 61.200**

 **2\. KEELER, P. (USA) 61.050**

 **3\. GENGHI, C. (CHI) 60.200**

For half a second, Payson's vision whites out. Elation, heartbreak, pride, exhaustion, they flow through her like electricity, overloading her mind.

"You did it, Payson!" Marty's voice grounds her, even as his arms lift her up in a spinning hug. "Silver freakin' medal!"

Still dazed, Payson looks to the scoreboard when Marty sets her down. She was 0.150 behind Ivanka. Less than a quarter of a point. Payson has absolutely no idea how that makes her feel.

" _Stay in the moment_ ," Sasha's voice eases into her mind.

Payson hangs onto his composure, breathing slow, and finally feels a smile spread across her face. In this moment, she is the world all-around silver medalist, and has just earned her family two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in sponsorship money from Grrrl Bar.

"Not a bad day's work, huh, Belov?" she murmurs to herself, and her smile grows wider.

* * *

"Silver medallist, representing the United States of America...Payson Keeler!"

Payson listens to the words with head bowed, relishing each syllable. She waits a beat, trying to memorise every piece of this moment, then raises her eyes and her hands, smiling and waving to the cheering crowd as she jumps up onto the rostrum.

The etched silver reflects the spotlights bathing the medalists, and Payson is so enthralled in studying it she almost forgets to accept the offered flower bouquet. She shares an 'oops' smile with Genghi Cho and the photo which captures the exchange will later become one of her favourites.

After Ivanka has been presented with the gold and the Russian anthem has played, Payson and Cho join her on the top platform, one arm around another's waist, the other holding up their respective medal, smiling toward the sea of lenses clamouring for the photo.

"Want bet they make us eat them?" Ivanka mutters in her clipped accent.

Payson has to smother a snort when, within five seconds, one of the journalists is gesturing for the gymnasts to pretend to bite their medals.

"Let us hope gold taste better in London," Ivanka complains.

"I'll be sure to let you know," Payson promises, flashing Ivanka a sly smile.

* * *

The required media goes by in a blur for Payson and she is more than happy for MJ to ferry her between news outlet and print media interviews, prompting her with a quick note as to what type of audience her answers need to be directed to.

"Thank you very much." MJ bats away 's attempts to get in a final question with the polite yet firm platitude, and steers Payson toward the door and the microphone free corridor that is welcome respite.

"Payson!" Kim is waiting a short distance down the hallway.

"Mom!" Payson exclaims, jogging over and reciprocating her mother's tight hug. "How did you get past security?"

"Your agent is a very persuasive lady." Kim shoots MJ a grin.

"You mean scary," Payson says, as MJ seamlessly puts her body between Payson and an over-eager journalist who seems to have sidestepped the barrier.

"Oh my god," Kim breathes, cupping the silver medal hanging around Payson's neck. "I wish I could be more eloquent, but, oh my god!" Kim laughs, proud tears springing back into her already bloodshot eyes.

"You sound like Lauren," Payson comments, laughing too. Suddenly, her eyes go very wide. "Shit, Lauren! How did she do?" In all the furore around the last rotation and the medal ceremony, Payson completely forgot about her teammate.

"Finished twenty-third," MJ states, alternating her attention between her phone and checking the area for anyone else who may be looking to sneak up on her client unannounced.

"Oh," Payson replies. Twenty third is second to last place.

While she's not entirely surprised - Lauren is a world class beamer but has nowhere near that standing on the other three apparatus - Payson feels a stab of sympathy that does not disappear even when she admits that Lauren's attitude since qualification deserves this reality slap.

"Not one for schadenfreude, then," MJ observes as she watches various emotions skitter across Payson's face.

"I guess not," Payson agrees.

"She fell on beam and I think it really threw her for the rest of the competition," Kim explains.

There is compassion in Kim's voice despite her dislike for Lauren, which reminds Payson why she loves her mother so much.

"You know," Kim sniffs, as Payson's arms slip round her waist, "you'd think by this point I would've learned to invest in waterproof mascara. MJ? Maybe you could get Pay a sponsorship deal with Maxfactor next?"

"Becca would die of excitement," Payson smiles, happily leaning into her mom's embrace. After the adrenaline rush of the medal ceremony, fatigue is creeping back into her body.

But MJ doesn't comment on Kim's suggestion, just gives a subtle nod over Payson's shoulder. When she turns, she sees Marcus Collins headed toward them.

"Let me take the lead on this," MJ murmurs, audible only to Payson and Kim, just before she reaches out her hand to meet the one Marcus proffers as he joins the trio. "Marcus."

"Ms Martin, Mrs Keeler, Miss Keeler. Congratulations to you all."

In contrast to her usual encounters with the NGO representative, Payson finds herself on the receiving end of a charming smile.

It's unnerving and she'll blame surprise on the slightly startled, monosyllabic "hi?" she greets him with.

Apparently, it's enough of an opening that Marcus feels he can launch into the main reason for seeking her out.

"Miss Keeler, I feel I owe you an apology." The visible difficulty Marcus has forcing this confession of personal failure out of his smiling lips would be hilarious had Payson not been so shocked.

"An apology," she parrots, exchanging looks with her mom, who has been watching Marcus with scowled suspicion since he joined them.

"The situation both leading up to and continuing during this championship has not been ideal and, though I believe the inception of the honor code has been beneficial, I realise that you may not have been treated with the respect your position on the national team deserves, and, for that lapse in judgment, I apologise."

Payson wonders if Marcus spends his leisure time free diving because she'll swear he didn't pause for breath during that statement.

"Thank you?" Again, Payson feels she isn't exactly giving her intelligence a particularly good showing but this is the same man who, less than a week ago, stood by while Ellen Beals and Louise Conway verbally attacked her, and insinuated that, should she continue with Sasha as her coach, her position representing the US would come into jeopardy.

"We appreciate that, Marcus. It's been a tricky time for all involved." Luckily MJ is not one to be nonplussed by apparent reversals of character. "I think Payson would agree with me that a clean slate is what's needed as we head into 2012."

Payson nods vigorously with what she hopes is a professional expression on her face.

"Thats…"

"Of course." MJ interrupts so courteously that Marcus has to allow her to speak first. "Any clean slate with my client would obviously also cover her coach Sasha Belov."

"Well…"

Again, MJ shuts down Marcus before he can get started. "Now, this is strictly between us." She leans toward him conspiratorially. "But we feel that as you've reached out to Payson you deserve to be met halfway." She glances at Payson and Kim, who play along with matching nods. "Which is why I'm telling you that it is very likely that Payson will soon not be the only US team member coached by Sasha Belov."

Marcus looks like MJ just forced him to swallow a wasp.

"But I understand that Coach Belov is no longer associated with the Rock, so Lauren Tanner will not continue…"

"Oh, I'm not talking about Lauren Tanner." MJ offers her most winning smile as Marcus mentally runs through the rest of the team.

"How many?" he asks, sunny disposition rapidly faltering.

"Well, from her recent facebook post it would seem Hayley Righetti intends to transfer to NCAA…" MJ trails off, deliberately letting Marcus focus on the two names she has not mentioned. "Now of course none of this is finalised and should any of this conversation be leaked…" She leaves that sentence unfinished too.

Marcus' eyes are focused midair, and Payson can almost hear his calculating brain sorting through the ramifications of this unexpected development.

"I believe we understand each other," Marcus says finally, returning his attention to Payson, Kim, and MJ. "Miss Keeler, congratulations again for today and please pass on my regards to Coach Belov, I understand he is recovering well?"

"Yes, he is," Payson hears herself saying, in the same patently false tone as Marcus. "We appreciate the NGO letting him stay at the hotel these past few days."

"Not at all," Marcus waves away the sentiment. "I think, in hindsight, we all realise Coach Belov's contribution to the team." It's a subtle allusion to the fact the team scored three points higher under Sasha's leadership then Marty's, but one that MJ and both Keelers recognise.

"I've kept you long enough. Good luck for your remaining finals, Miss Keeler." He shakes Payson's hand.

"Miss Martin."

"MJ, please," the agent instructs as Marcus shakes her hand.

"Mrs Keeler."

Kim graces Marcus with her most friendly - and entirely fake - smile. "Always a pleasure, Mr Collins."

Marcus' congenial manner has reached it's time limit and the smile of farewell he attempts - and fails - is almost comical.

"What the hell was that about?" Payson asks, watching Marcus' retreating back.

"That," MJ says, permitting herself a contented beam, "was Marcus Collins realising how good you really are and currying favour by eating a large slice of humble pie."

Payson wrinkles her nose. "Sounds gross."

"I'd imagine it leaves a rather unpleasant aftertaste."

Payson bites her lower lip to try and contain the smile. "Shame."

"Definitely a shame," Kim agrees, looking supremely satisfied.

"Oh yes," MJ says continuing to beam. "A real shame."

* * *

As Payson pushes into her hotel room, she just has time to glimpse a tiny rocket of colour before arms are flung round her waist, dragging her into a stinging hug.

"Hey, Beth," she laughs, a little winded, patting Beth's back as the younger girl continues to cling to her.

"You were brilliant!" Beth sings, words muffled by Payson's jacket.

"While I realise it's tradition to get someone a present when they succeed, I think giving Payson broken ribs to match her boy's is a bit much," Kelly drawls, sidling across the room and, with thumb and forefinger, grasping Beth's t-shirt to yank her back.

"Sorry!" Beth grins, unperturbed even when Kelly shoulders her into the bathroom and shuts the door in her face.

"Was that really necessary?" Payson arches an eyebrow at her roommate.

"Extremely," Kelly says, "considering what i'm about to do."

Payson has a crazy idea that Kelly might be preparing to rip the silver medal off its ribbon and beat her round the head with it. It would perhaps be less of a shock that what Kelly actually does.

With a hesitancy but determination that brings tears back into Payson's eyes, Kelly wraps her arms around Payson's neck and pulls her into a tight hug. Tipping her head down slightly, so it can rest on Kelly's shoulder, Payson slips her arms round her friend's waist.

"You get snot on this t-shirt, Keeler, and you're paying for the dry cleaning," Kelly warns when Payson, fighting exhausted but elated tears, sniffs.

"Thanks for the warning."

There's a sudden change in light, and then, with a thud, another pair of arms joins the embrace.

"Remind me to lock her in next time," Kelly sighs as Beth starts to sing Dancing on the Ceiling.

"And miss out on having a walking jukebox?" Payson jokes, wiping her eyes as the trio untangle from each other.

"I'll live with the disappointment."

Shrugging her backpack onto the bed, Payson looks at the clock.

"So what's the plan?" Kelly asks, giving Payson a tap on the head to indicate she should sit on the floor. Payson follows the instruction so Kelly and Beth, perching on the end of the mattress, can start to unbraid her hair.

"I need to shower, then eat, then i've got a massage booked with Mandy." Payson closes her eyes, wishing she could just curl up on the carpet and go to sleep.

"Do you need me to bunk in with Lionel Richie here this evening?" Kelly indicates Beth in the mirror they're all facing.

"That's okay. I'm going to go to Sasha's room after physio. Ow!" Payson's smile at Kelly's reflection turns into a grimace. "Untie my hair, Parker, don't rip it out!"

"One silver medal round her neck and she turns into a prima donna." Kelly exaggerates a sigh.

* * *

Darkness shrouds Rio and - as it has so many nights - rain lashes against the window pane, turning the skyscraper lights into tiny fireworks. Payson remembers observing to Kelly how she didn't realise it rained in Rio; it seems like a lifetime ago now.

Room lamps extinguished, she and Sasha are lying on his bed, sheets kicked to the floor, both stripped down to their underwear. Payson can't exactly remember how they got from the door to the bed, or where the rest of her clothes went.

Her new silver medal is lying on Sasha's bare chest, where it keeps reflecting splashes of the rain kaleidoscoped window light. In comparison, the red and purple stains of broken capillaries on Sasha's healing skin are barely visible. Payson twists onto her side and props up on an elbow so she can look down at him.

"Beth offered to colour it in with a gold sharpie," Payson says, voice husky with contented fatigue.

"She does have an artistic flair," Sasha smiles, watching Payson through half-lidded eyes.

"Not sure we should let her loose on leotard design, though." Payson sweeps her long hair over one shoulder and the tendrils skitter across Sasha's chest.

"Yeah, don't think rainbow sleeves covered in fairy lights wouldn't pass health and safety," Sasha agrees, pulling Payson in for a lingering kiss before she settles down against his side, careful to sling her arm over his hips and not his torso.

"Might be worth it to see Kelly's face, though," Payson chuckles, rubbing a thumb over Sasha's too prominent hipbone.

"That it might," Sasha says, though any follow up vanishes when Payson reaches back to unclasp her bra and toss it to the floor. She mumbles a contented sigh as her now bare skin connects with his and his free arm wraps around her body to lightly clasp her thigh.

Payson enjoys feeling the rise and fall of Sasha's breath but her mind won't quite let go.

"So which of us is going to say it?" she murmurs.

"Payson…" The sigh in the two syllables of her name indicate Sasha knows what she's about to say.

"I could have won gold today, we both know it." Frustration scratches through Payson's voice.

Gently, Sasha eases her thigh over his own, cups the back of her head and pulls her on top of him enough that she is looking down on him again.

"Maybe," he says, fingers threading through her waterfalling hair. "But we don't work in could haves, Pay. Reality is you were only 0.150 behind gold medal position without any of the upgrades we will have in place by London."

They share the darkness for a while, just looking at each other, and Payson feels her frustration begin to dissipate. She leans in and allows their lips to meet, then settles down against his body.

"I have bad news, i'm afraid, Belov," she warns, after a catlike yawn.

"And what's that." Sasha, fighting and failing to keep his eyes open, kisses Payson's hair.

"Day off tomorrow, so you're gonna have to put up with me all night," Payson stretches her neck to prop her chin on his collar bone. "That a problem?" she murmurs through a sleepy smile.

Sasha runs his hand from her thigh all the way up her body, making her shiver against him. "I think i'll cope," his voice rumbles through Payson as she lays her cheek on his chest.

It's Payson who falls asleep first, Sasha feeling the shift in her breathing. Moving slowly so as not to disturb her, he takes the medal off his chest and places it carefully on the nightstand. In a state of half sleep he tightens his arms around her, memorising every part of her he can. He knows it will be a while before they can have a night like this again.


	51. Chapter 51

**CHAPTER FIFTY ONE**

"Do you trust me, Payson?" MJ asks, her brisk pace carrying them speedily through the hotel atrium.

"Why do I get the feeling i'm really not gonna like where you're going with this?" Payson answers, pulling her hair up into a ponytail as she jogs to keep up with her agent.

It's not that Payson forgot she had a meeting scheduled with MJ and the representative from Calvin Klein, more that she had lost track of time.

"It was Sasha's fault," Payson defends, while MJ waits for her to tie a shoelace that wasn't secured during her mad dash to shower, dress, put on makeup, and ignore Kelly's increasingly gratuitous innuendos after she had crashed into their room with ten minutes to spare before MJ came knocking at the door.

"I don't doubt it," MJ says, deliberately mild, and Payson realises her punishment for lateness is her agent casually reminding her that she is all too familiar with Sasha.

"So why do I have to trust you?" Payson hastily redirects the conversation.

"Other than it making good life sense? I may have had to broaden Sasha's role in the deal." MJ grabs Payson by the back of the jacket to stop her walking straight into a group posing for photos next to the wall to ceiling marine tank.

"Broaden how?" Payson pulls her hearts necklace from her track pants pocket and fastens the clasp as they move from the wide atrium, through a set of double doors, and turn right, entering a corridor Payson isn't familiar with.

"The fragrance they're interested in you fronting? He'd be advertising it with you."

Luckily the corridor is absent of other people because Payson stops dead.

"And Sasha agreed to this?"

MJ ushers Payson back into a fast walk, steering her round another corner into a longer corridor. "He will when he realises how important this is."

"He will?" Payson's eyebrows are still in her hairline but MJ is unfazed by her client's scepticism.

"Yes, he will." MJ hesitates, but only to grab Payson by the jacket again when Payson, busy tucking in her t-shirt, walks straight past the staircase that is apparently part of their route.

"You could just tell me where we're going," Payson grumbles as she rounds the corner of the staircase only to be met with another flight.

"Or I could just tell you..." MJ trots up the final steps and then announces, with theatricality, "..we're here." She gestures at two glass doors embossed with the name Executive Lounge.

"How did you time that so well?" Payson frowns between the door and her agent.

MJ pats Payson's shoulder. "I'm just that good. Come along." She drags one door open and ushers Payson inside.

The spacious lounge must be at a corner of the hotel's complex structure because floor to ceiling windows intersect two sides of the room. There is a bar at the far side and many square tables ringed by leather chairs. The atmosphere is quieter than the other meeting areas Payson has been in since they arrived and, for the first time, she feels underdressed in her team uniform; all the other patrons are in suits.

MJ is scanning the tables. "And of course he's early," she mutters, then quickly faces Payson. "Ok, his name is Joe Hagger, he has two daughters, one of whom loves gymnastics. And, most important, agree with everything I say and act like this isn't the first time you're hearing it, okay?"

"Joe Hagger; gymnastics fan daughter; smile and nod. Got it."

"I knew I was going to enjoy working with you."

* * *

"Kelly. Good morn…"

With a violent stab of one crutch, Kelly shoves the room door open so hard it nearly whacks Sasha in the face.

"...ing."

"You have sunscreen, right?" Kelly doesn't waste time on greetings as she hops over the threshold. "Because if you get burnt, Payson will blame me."

"Not much of a chance getting burnt in here," Sasha muses, retreating to the chair to finish putting on socks, the job Kelly had interrupted with a couple of knocks and a shouted, "I haven't got all day, Belov!"

"Not in here," Kelly sighs, apparently exhausted by his stupidity. "Outside. Where you will be having coffee with Beth and me."

"I'm having coffee with Beth and you?" Sasha frowns. Feet now both socked, he can move on to the laborious task of slipping on sneakers and tying his laces. He really can't wait for his ribs and arm to heal so he can get rid of the bulky cast and get back to full mobility.

"Yes, you are," Kelly snaps. "Because I just invited you. Was that not clear?" She says it in a way that implies he should have identified the invitation by the power of her knocks alone.

"Not entirely," Sasha admits, amusement creeping into his sleep foggy mind.

"You need vitamin D. It helps brittle bones."

"I don't have brittle bones," Sasha says, rising up with a grunt after securing his laces.

Kelly frowns at him. "Then why did your ribs and arm break?"

"Because they were hit by a car."

"If you'd have gotten more sun, they'd have been stronger." Kelly shows no sign of giving up her argument and Sasha hasn't got the stamina for a fight with his eldest gymnast right now.

"So you're inviting me for coffee with you and Beth. And this will be happening when?" Sasha picks his watch off the nightstand, giving his pill box a cursory glance, very glad he's already taking his dosage this morning and doesn't have to make a thing of it in front of Kelly.

"It's happening now," Kelly says, turning back toward the door. "And bring your wallet."

"So I can pay for the coffee you're inviting me for?"

Kelly glares over her shoulder at him. "So you can buy a baseball cap from the gift shop. Like I said, you catch the sun and i'll never hear the end of it from your girl."

She slams out the room and is banging on Beth's door by the time Sasha has retrieved his wallet and key card. He tells himself he's a sentimental idiot when he can't stop the grin flushing over his face at Kelly's description of Payson.

* * *

The cafe is spread over two tiers just above the hotel's swimming pool area, thatched palm umbrella's providing welcome shade for the tables beneath. While they wait for a table by the railings to come free, Sasha pulls off his newly purchased hat and turns his face toward the dappled sunlight creeping through the fronds.

"Room for one more?" A familiar voice asks.

"Austin." Sasha turns round to greet the younger man, slipping his cap back on and offering his hand.

"Sasha." Austin returns the grip. "So do I ask how you're feeling or…?

"Better now i'm breathing air that hasn't been refried through several miles of ventilation tunnels." Sasha cracks a smile and Austin nods understanding that the last thing Sasha wants to do right now is talk about his health.

"I'm sitting down," Kelly announces, hopping over to a table before the current inhabitants have even finished standing up. "If you must join us," she says, without looking at Austin but her obvious distasteful tone indicating its he she is addressing, "you can sit there." She points to the only seat at the table not protected by shade. "If you're going to have those ugly sunglasses superglued to your face, you might as well get some use out of them."

"And a very good morning to you too, Ms Parker," Austin grins, gallantly bowing, putting on his most charming demeanour.

"Did I say you could talk to me?" Kelly pointedly twists her head the other way and raises her hand to gesture to a waiter.

Sasha carefully lowers himself into a seat, unable to take his eyes from the beautiful scenery of the bay, while Austin makes Beth giggle by pulling a chair out for her and then pushing her in toward the table when she sits.

"No, but how could I deny myself the pleasure of conversing with you?" Austin flops down in the seat Kelly indicated, drawing a grimaced scoff from her when he sprawls his legs out and pops his elbow on the chair back with a deliberately obnoxious grunt.

"Sasha, could you please tell Mr Shaky Arms to get his feet out of the way if he doesn't want a piece of aluminium shoved through his calf," Kelly says, trying to lay her crutches down on the white tiles beside the table.

"Mr Shaky Arms?" Beth queries, as Sasha takes the opportunity to ask the summoned waiter to bring him the strongest coffee available.

"I think Ms Parker may be making reference to my rings routine," Austin comments.

"During your Iron Cross the other day, you were vibrating so hard I thought you'd left your phone in your pocket and some misguided loser with way too much time on their hands was texting you." Kelly studies her nails.

"No, I must have just been having a premonition of us having this conversation and gotten overexcited." Despite the sunglasses covering half his face, Austin's enjoyment of being challenged like this is evident.

Before Kelly can retaliate, Sasha gets in the way with a "congratulations, Austin. Two years, two golds, not bad."

Austin raises one shoulder in what, in another person, might indicate they are uncomfortable with the praise. "Petrov was coming off a stomach bug, Yuto wasn't at his best, and Uchimura isn't even here."

"You can only beat the competition that shows up," Kelly answers automatically.

All eyes go to her, and her own flare with shock when she realises she just offered Austin Tucker reassurance.

"Jesus, how long does it take to make a cup of coffee?" she bleats quickly, swinging round in her chair to concentrate on the barista station.

Unidentifiable smile pulling at the corners of his lips, Austin issues a small cough, then addresses Sasha. "Needed a break from the hotel room, huh?" He gestures at the turquoise ocean lazily lapping over the rocks beneath.

"Actually, Kelly invited Beth and I to join her."

"She did? That doesn't sound like her." Austin raises his eyebrows and pulls his sunglasses down, so he can look at Kelly over the top of the lenses when she finally returns her attention to the table.

"Yes, an invite is when someone actually wants your company," she says, rifling through her small crossbody bag. "I'm not surprised you're unfamiliar with the concept."

Austin laughs and Kelly is clearly fighting to keep her expression stern.

"Afraid I've got to side with Austin on this one. Come on Kelly, what's the real reason you wanted me and Beth out here at this particular time? Besides a boost to my vitamin D levels." Sasha folds his arms, placing a bet with himself that MJ's name will appear in the explanation, probably near the start.

"Well," Kelly prevaricates, then issues a put upon sigh, "since we're here now I guess i'm allowed to move on to stage two."

"Stage two?" Beth asks, smiling at and thanking the waiter who places a diet coke in front of her with the requested three straws.

Kelly inhales a lungful of steam from the cup the waiter slides over and then begins. "MJ may…"

"I win," Sasha mutters, then waves at Kelly to continue.

"...have suggested she was planning to show the Calvin Klein rep the view, and that if we just happened to be out here it would present a good opportunity for him to meet you since the deal she's lining up is for Payson _and_ you to front their new line. Also, he may want a signed t-shirt for his daughter." Kelly ends her one-breath speech by dragging a US national team shirt and a sharpie from her bag. "You wanna sign now or later?"

Austin covers his mouth but it does little to conceal him laughing at the expression on Sasha's face.

"You're gonna be a model!" Beth claps, and Sasha, eyes fixed a little too wide, takes a very large mouthful of coffee.

* * *

"My little sister Becca's a cheerleader. Just high school at the moment but she's looking into All Star teams. Who does Brodie cheer for?"

If MJ was the type of person to revel in her instincts being proven right, the smile she's currently wearing would be obscenely smug, but since MJ is the type of person who never doubts the correctness of her instincts, she can observe the scene playing out at the table with a calm satisfaction.

Payson is listening carefully to a captivated Joe Hagger, responding to his questions, remembering information, and continuing the conversation without any hints or prompting from her agent. If MJ could teach that kind of sincerity to her other clients, her condo would be getting a swimming pool upgrade far sooner than planned.

"Yeah, Sasha used to train her too, but she decided she didn't want to compete elite," Payson is saying when MJ, surreptitiously checking her phone for a text from Kelly, tunes fully back into the conversation.

"Friend of the whole family, really," MJ says, seizing the opportunity to move the meeting along. Afterall, sincerity can only get you so far. "Sasha used to work with Payson's mother too."

"Really?" Joe nods, "I remember MJ saying how much your family rallied around you after the back injury."

The Calvin Klein rep is a man in his mid-forties, a shrewd operator who can recognise bullshit when he sees it and is caught slightly off-guard when he detects no trace.

"They were amazing." Payson smiles with the comfortable curl she only gets when she's talking about her family. "For a while there, we thought it was over for my gymnastics, and they tried to help me adjust to a normal life, and then they were totally supportive of the experimental surgery and my rehab."

"And where did Sasha fit into this?" Joe asks, obviously trying to get a feel for the narrative. MJ readies to step in with guidance if needed, but Payson carries on clearly; it's always helpful - though rarely applicable - when a media strategy is actually based on the truth.

"He was there through all of it. He made sure I felt welcome in the gym when I was in my back brace and feeling so self conscious; he was eager for me to help him coach when we thought I couldn't compete again; and since the surgery he's helped me transform my artistic style and technique and...and he's helped me find myself again, not just in my gymnastics, but figure out who I am as a person now." She stops suddenly and bites her lower lip, embarrassed perhaps at the honesty. "Sorry, that's probably more than you wanted to know."

Joe trades glances with MJ. Both have been a part of this industry long enough to know when a deal has just been cinched.

"Not at all, Miss Keeler. A lot of our fragrances are unisex, so we really want to be able to feel a connection between those we choose to front the brand, and have that connection come across through the various formats," Joe flips through one of the promotional pamphlets he bought out at the beginning of the meeting, "whether that's print media, tv commercials, billboards, or online campaigns."

As Payson looks at each example he points out, MJ notices a slight crease appear between her eyebrows. She shoots a quick glance at MJ, who doesn't automatically interrupt even though she has no idea what Payson is about to say.

"Mr Hagger…"

"Joe, please."

"Joe. Look, these are all amazing and I really like your company and your products," Payson breaks off, brow furrowing further.

"I'm sensing a 'but' coming here," Joe jokes, though MJ recognises his concentration is sharper than at any other part of the meeting. Still, MJ holds back interference.

"You heard that Sasha and I were in a car accident a few weeks ago? It's just, Sasha was cut pretty badly by window glass and…" Payson looks at MJ. This time it's a request for help and, luckily, MJ has just caught on to Payson's concerns.

"He received three serious lacerations to the face and, at this point, we're not certain how bad the scarring will be," MJ says. "Now…"

"But it shouldn't be a problem right?" Payson suddenly jumps back in, protective of Sasha even though he isn't present. "I mean, I have scars too. Ok, they're on my back, not my face, but i'm not ashamed of them and I don't want Sasha to be made to feel like he should be ashamed either." She looks between MJ and Joe, almost beseeching.

"What's the quote? 'A scar is proof I survived'. And it's true. Sasha's scars - and mine - show how much we've had to fight to even be here. I just," she calms a little, "I just don't want him to be judged." She trails off, hunching a little in the shoulders.

"Miss Keeler," Joe says, kindly, and waits for her to lift her head. "It's you and Sasha as people I want to work with. I was pretty much sold on your story before I came here today but hearing you speak and seeing your loyalty and clear affection for him leaves me in no doubt that I want to sign you both. Obviously, MJ and I will need to negotiate terms but, and I promise this, none of those terms will include clauses concerning Sasha's injuries."

Relief shines from Payson as she says quietly, "thank you."

"You're welcome." Joe reaches out to shake her hand. "And welcome to Calvin Klein."

Though MJ knows Joe's promise is not based purely on sentiment - she forwarded enough photos in her proposal that the Calvin Klein rep has surely realised minor scarring will take nothing from Sasha's good and very marketable looks - she still notes this may be one of the first deals she's ever brokered where no lies will be involved on either side.

"Joe," MJ says, as if the thought has only just occurred to her, "if you don't have to rush off right away, I'm sure Payson would be happy to sign a t-shirt or something for your daughter?"

* * *

Sasha pulls his phone out of his trouser pocket as it vibrates. He's been waiting for a message; Kelly's cell has beeped twice since they've been sitting here and he'd bet the Airstream the texts were from MJ.

 _CK rep signed you both. Be out in ten minutes. Play nice for Payson's sake._

And of course MJ knows that invoking Payson's name will stop anything sarcastic or snide coming out of his mouth.

"They'll be here in ten minutes," Sasha advises, lolling his head back and taking a deep gulp of fresh sea breeze.

"I should probably leave you guys to it," Austin suddenly announces.

"And miss out on sucking up to a potential sponsor? Have you got heat stroke?"

Rather than participating in any banter, Austin ignores Kelly, and that's warning enough for Sasha to follow the younger man's sightline. Threading her way through the tables toward them is Kaylie. She isn't alone.

"I thought it was just going to be you and me." Austin stands to meet his girlfriend's kiss of greeting, but his attention is aimed over her shoulder.

"Sorry." Kaylie's apology isn't just for Austin. "I didn't realise you guys were out here." She shoots a look of contrition at Sasha.

"It's fine." He tries to smile but his jaw is threatening to lock.

Approaching are Steve, Marty, Alex, Lauren, Darby, and Summer. Sasha hopes the shadow cast by his cap hides how pale he knows his face has gone.

"Isn't this a pleasant surprise," Steve announces, leaning on the back of one of the empty chairs. "Good to see you enjoying your vacation." He fixes Sasha with smile of disdainful judgment.

At one point in his life, Sasha would be shoving out of his chair and readying his fist to meet Steve's face. It takes all the reserves he's gathered over the past few days of resting but he manages to stay seated and, on the surface, entirely unperturbed by his former employer's provocation.

"Try the colombian, Steve." He taps his coffee cup. "It's just the right amount of bitter."

Marty covers a smirk with his hand, Alex lets it show outright.

"Thanks for the tip," Steve says, not able to conceal his acidity as well as Sasha.

"Let's get a table on the lower deck." It's more of a command than suggestion from Austin.

"Good idea," Kaylie backs up her boyfriend, flashing conciliatory smiles at everyone.

Darby and Summer - who hasn't once looked at Sasha - gratefully head for the steps leading down to the lower level of tables. Kaylie slips her arm through Lauren's, and gives a encouraging tug when Lauren seems reluctant to abandoning her glaring contest with Kelly. Alex waits for Marty who, after failing to catch Kelly's attention, follows.

"I want your trailer off my property," Steve aims his parting shot at Sasha.

"Should we have asked them to sit with us?" Beth asks, words muffled by the three straws she is using to slurp her coke glass dry.

"Yes, we should." Kelly's lips are still thin. "Because Sasha throwing Steve Tanner off a cliff just as MJ shows up with a potential sponsor is totally the impression we want to give."

"I don't know, I think it might be worth it." Kim brings a much nicer atmosphere with her than the previous surprise guests.

"Let me guess," Sasha says, leaning back in his chair and lifting his cap a little to wipe his brow. "MJ texted you."

"Got it in one," Kim admits, sitting in the chair beside Kelly. "You okay, sweetie? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine, it's just my Tanner allergy." Kelly visibly relaxes in Kim's presence. Sasha wonders if the Keeler family is coming to mean as much to Kelly as they do to himself.

"I know that feeling," Kim gives Kelly a conspiratorial nudge. "So, anyone wanna fill me in on why i've been summoned?"

"Payson and Sasha are going to be underwear models!" Beth announces, beaming.

"Maybe we should revisit the idea of someone getting thrown off a cliff," Kim says, turning her narrowing eyes on Sasha.

* * *

As Payson jogs along behind her agent and the Calvin Klein rep, who are setting a fast clip along the hallway, she realises why MJ's been preaching the importance of trust in their burgeoning relationship; there is simply no time for all the agent's decisions to be okayed by Payson first.

It goes against Payson's usual instincts to relinquish control but, despite the short length of their association, the foundations of trust have been laid and she finds the concept of media related decisions being taken out of hands more of a relief then a concern.

She has to scupper a smile when, on reaching the hotel's ocean view cafe, there is a table of familiar faces already present to act surprised at their supposedly unexpected arrival.

Kelly immediately turns up the charm, assuring Joe - "is it okay if I call you Joe?" - that should Payson ever need an understudy, she's more than happy to step in; Beth momentarily halts all conversation by proclaiming that she's very happy to meet Mr Hagger because she loves his underpants; Kim trades parental worries of having a child starting All Star cheer; and MJ surveys the entire scene like a puppeteer impressed - but not at all surprised - by her own dexterity.

Payson gravitates to Sasha, dragging an empty chair over from an adjacent table.

"I've been told to be on my best behaviour," Sasha mutters, dipping his head toward hers, though the squeeze he gives her thigh under the table suggests he's not entirely following the order.

"Sorry I couldn't warn you, I didn't realise MJ was making a deal for the both of us," Payson says, using the cover of the table to clasp Sasha's hand.

"Don't apologise," Sasha says, easing out his good arm to rest on the back of Payson's chair, "MJ never was good at letting anyone in on her plans." He absentmindedly trails his dangling fingers up and down Payson's spine as she sits back in her seat.

Under the guise of asking Payson to sign the shirt Kelly just 'happened to have in her bag', and carrying out the formal introduction of Sasha, MJ brings Joe over. Payson suspects it has something to do with how close she and Sasha are sitting and works hard not to fidget under the scrutiny.

Despite years away from this side of the professional sporting world, Sasha falls easily back into commercial small talk, appearing to answer Joe's questions in great detail while not actually providing any. It's a skill Payson wants to learn; she still feels a bit exposed from being so honest with this stranger earlier, even if MJ seems to think it was the right way for her to act.

"Just a warning in case they come back up - Lauren, Kaylie, their dads, Austin, Marty, Darby, and Summer, are downstairs," Sasha murmurs, hand still resting on Payson's thigh tightening a little.

"Oh." Payson wants to ask for more detail but MJ interrupts to explain that Joe is leaving, cuing up a series of goodbyes.

"So, Matilda Jean," Sasha announces, when MJ returns from escorting Joe to back to the entrance. "Are you ready to let us mere mortals in on the details of whatever master plan it is you're concocting?"

"Why, Mr Belov, you read my mind," MJ says, with regal aloofness, sitting down between Kim and Beth.

That Sasha and MJ are beginning to remind Payson of bickering siblings is both amusing and a little disturbing considering her knowledge of their history.

"Since we're are all here, I think it an apt time for a review of the situation?" MJ looks at the five other people at the table.

"Which situation are we talking about?" Kim asks. "The Calvin Klein deal?"

"Partly that; partly Sasha coaching Kelly and Beth; and partly…" She pauses, choosing her words carefully. "Shall we call it the 'unexpected circumstance'?" She pins a look on Sasha then moves it to Payson, then repeats the action until everyone realises what she's referring too.

"Does she mean that Payson's dating Sa..." In what was probably meant to be a whisper, Beth's very audible question is interrupted by Kelly's sharp reflexes.

"Yes, that's what she means," Kim confirms, a little tense, as Kelly withdraws her hand from Beth's mouth, lingering incase Beth decides she needs to repeat the query.

"Sorry." Beth's wide eyes swing over to Sasha and Payson. "I was just making sure."

"It's okay," Payson soothes, hating the self reproach in Beth's expression.

"Don't worry." Sasha smiles at the young girl. "I always need to check everything MJ says at least twice." He gives her a wink and Beth relaxes.

"So," MJ calls the impromptu meeting back to order, "on Kelly's suggestion, I have been in contact with Denver Elite regarding you all training at that facility." She holds up a hand to stop Sasha, who has opened his mouth to comment. "Yes, I am aware you have no desire to take Marty Walsh's position as head coach but, as Kelly and I have discussed, Marty's defection to the Rock has left DE in a bit bind."

"They figured I'd be leaving with Marty," Kelly adds, "and their elite section has already been decimated this year with injury and transfers."

"Meaning that when I suggested they could have three world championship medalists, all of whom will be making a bid for the Olympic team next year, training there full time, they were fairly eager to talk to me." MJ shares a satisfied nod with Kelly, who shrugs almost shyly before catching Payson's affectionate expression and immediately switching to obnoxious preening.

"They'd be willing to sublet parts of their facilities?" Kim says, obviously skeptical. As manager of the Rock, she's had previous dealings with the Denver Elite administration.

"Not exactly. What they are willing to consider is nominally putting Sasha on staff as an 'associate coach'. This would allow them to benefit from Sasha's name, as well as having you three affiliated with their club. In reality, the only responsibilities you all would have to DE would be a few exhibitions here and there, and some promotional days of coaching the lower levels. Salary wise…"

"Not now," Sasha snaps, firm enough to immediately provoke a nod of acquiescence from MJ rather than a teasing joke.

"So DE would have a separate head coach?" Payson asks, rubbing a thumb on Sasha's knee to try and ease the tension that's just shot through him.

"Yes," MJ nods. "Their set up would remain as it is now, you four would be the separate unit."

"How do we know that as soon as they have Sasha on staff they won't start exploiting him and the girls as much as they can?" Kim frowns, glancing at her daughter.

"Any contract would be very specific about how many hours Sasha and the girls would be obligated to work for or represent the club." MJ assures. "Look, none of this is definite yet. I've got meetings with members of the Denver Elite board set up for Tuesday. They're obviously scrambling to find a replacement for Marty. I think negotiations will move fast because they want to steady the ship, not to mention the fact Steve Tanner is already making plans for some kind of rebranding of the Rock."

"Rebranding?" Payson repeats.

"Interim national coach Marty Walsh, former Olympic silver medalist Darby Conrad, World team bronze medalist Lauren Tanner, returning National Champion Kaylie Cruz, World all around gold medalist Austin Tucker. Am I missing anyone?" Beth pauses her list, thumb and four fingers of her left hand raised.

"No, I think you've got it pretty much covered," Kim smiles to Beth, then looks at Payson and the others. "Steve's bringing in some kind of publicity officer rather than hire another co-manager. He only emailed me last night," Kim placates when Payson frowns.

"My role will remain the basic administration of the gym, the new hire will deal with everything media and publicity related, which is one hundred percent fine with me." She rolls her eyes. "The less I have to deal with Team Tanner and the 'New Rock', the better."

Beth giggles as Kelly visibly shivers at the mention.

"Dammit," Payson mutters, checking her watch. "We gotta go," she says, as Kelly and Beth both look at their phones and realise the minibus will leave for the practice facility in thirty minutes. "Sorry MJ but…"

"Training comes first," MJ comments, then side-eyes her former client. "I recall that principle from the ninety or so times Sasha yelled it at me."

"Well, if you'd have worn that t-shirt I got it printed on I could have saved my voice," Sasha snarks back.

"Play nice," Payson warns the adults as she stands up, Beth helping Kelly with her crutches as they ready to leave too.

They're halfway to the atrium when Payson mind suddenly catches up with her body and she stops dead in the corridor.

Kelly, hopping by on her crutches, shoots her friend a knowing grin.

"Just realised you kissed Sasha goodbye, huh? And here I was thinking you'd got the hang of subtlety, Keeler."

* * *

Kim has just left Sasha and MJ and is heading back indoors toward the gift shop in order to select a present for Becca when she hears her name being called. After a slight grimace, she arranges her face and turns to meet Summer, who, end of her long rose pink dress clasped in one hand to prevent tripping, is jogging up the corridor.

"I'm glad I caught you," Summer says, breathing fast. "I've been hoping to talk to you for a few days."

In a different mood, Kim might pretend as if Payson hasn't told her exactly what happened with Summer on team final day. As it is, even sitting under an umbrella, the strong Rio sun has given her a bit of a headache, and she wants to get this conversation over with as quickly as possible.

"While I appreciate your concern, if this is about Payson, I'm dealing with it."

Most would be rebuffed by Kim's expression as much as her tone, but, while Summer is certainly surprised, she doesn't back off.

"You mean, you know?" Summer studies Kim. "About Payson and…" Judgmental silence replaces Sasha's name.

Oddly, Kim finds herself feeling protective of Sasha, as well as of Payson.

"Yes, I know."

"And you're okay with it?" Summer's astonishment is so intense it's insulting.

Kim takes a step toward her former colleague, headache temporarily eclipsed by anger.

"Not to be rude, Summer, but how I feel about anything to do with my daughter is absolutely none of your business."

"I'm just trying to help," Summer says, suddenly prim.

Kim is about to reply "your help isn't needed," when she realises there is something she needs from Summer.

"Have you told anyone?" Kim tries to soften her tone. The last thing Payson needs is for a vindictive Summer to spread the story.

"No," Summer says, but her lack of moral outrage at having her discretion questioned is missing.

Kim stiffens. "Are you planning on telling anyone?"

Summer lifts her chin. "I don't spread gossip."

"But?" Kim prompts, wrestling her temper under control because Summer obviously has an angle.

"I need to know they were telling the truth about the video that Lauren found. Because she took a lot of criticism for sending it to the NGO and if they were lying…"

"They weren't lying," Kim says, immediately, because it's something she'd asked about during her meal with Payson and Sasha the other night. "Nothing happened between them until long after that video."

"Is that what Payson told you?" There's a hint to Summer's tone as if she thinks Payson may not be a reliable source.

"I trust my daughter." Kim again forces her temper down, this time because the door at the end of the corridor has swung open.

Summer follows Kim's lead and moves to the side of the corridor as a chattering family pass by.

"I won't say anything, Kim," Summer murmurs, "but you have to know they are playing with fire."

"Thank you," Kim says, answering only the first part of Summer's statement because she doesn't trust herself to address the latter.

"I am only trying to help."

Summer issues her final appeal and walks away, leaving Kim alone in the corridor, headache once again pounding.

* * *

"Just so we're clear, I have no problem with a kiss and run," Sasha says to the closed door when he hears the shower unit switch off, "but if you could not do it and then leave me with your mother and my ex? That'd be preferable."

"I didn't even realise i'd kissed you." Payson's voice sounds from the bathroom.

"Good to know i'm so memorable," Sasha quips back, for the sake of his sanity trying to avoid picturing what Payson looks like right now.

It's late evening and Payson and Sasha are alone in her room. She'd had a quick dinner with Beth and Kelly, and then hurried upstairs to take a shower and prep for the vault and bars finals tomorrow. Her teammates had dispatched to Beth's room to watch a movie - "for the love of god, not the Wizard of Oz" was Kelly's only proviso - so Payson texted Sasha to come over.

"What did you guys talk about after we left, anyway?" Pasyon asks as she opens the door and bustles through. She's dragged on short shorts and a tank top, both items sticking to her still damp skin as her blonde hair hangs in a wet mane down her back and over her shoulders. Sasha suspects his sanity has just exited the building.

"What?" he blinks, not having heard a word of her question.

Payson turns to face him after retrieving a brush from the dresser. There is a knowing look in her eye as she grins at his sudden lack of vocabulary.

"Why Belov, are you blushing?" She sprays something on her hair, sweeps it over one shoulder, and begins pulling the brush through.

"No, that's just where your mum punched me." Sasha levers himself off the wall where he's been leaning and steps over to join Payson. He stands behind her, palms pressing lightly on her damp arms as he lays two kisses to the nape of her neck.

"No fair," Payson sighs, brush faltering as Sasha kisses his way round to her temple. He slips his arms around her waist and props his chin on her shoulder. They look at each other in the mirror.

"What was your question again?" Sasha's voice rumbles against Payson's back; he can feel the echoed vibrations and doesn't mind the dull ache they provoke.

"What was the rest of MJ's meeting about?" Payson repeats, working the plastic brush bristles through wet tendrils. Sasha lifts his face away from her shoulder to give her room but keeps his arms round her waist.

"The Calvin Klein deal," Sasha signs, running his hands under Payson's vest so they're crossed over her stomach. "Apparently if the public gets used to seeing us presented together, it'll be less of a shock when it come out that we're…" he waves his hand back and forth, "you know."

"Eloquent." Payson shakes her head and chuckles.

"You aren't wearing underwear, you're lucky I can speak at all." Sasha nips at her earlobe and enjoys her shiver.

"Poor baby," Payson sympathises, reaching back to pull his skull down over her shoulder as she twists her head to she can kiss him fully. "Now move," she instructs, lightly pushing him away after a final peck. "I need to get stuff ready for tomorrow."

"Any issues in training today?" Sasha, slightly dazed and perversely relieved his current medication is preventing any reactions he knows he's not fit to follow through on, drops down on Payson's bed.

"For once, no," Payson says, going to her wardrobe to pull out the metallic blue leotard she's selected for day one of event finals. "I got some good run throughs with my 1.5. Kelly's as ready as she can be and we just have to hope the ankle holds on dismount. And Beth is in the right headspace for both her vaults."

"Reminds me." Sasha, momentarily distracted by Payson's bare legs passing right by his face, blinks and recalls the rest of this morning's meeting. "Your mum mentioned that you guys have hosted out of state gymnasts before?" Payson's reflection nods at him as she holds up the leotard to the mirror to check there aren't any marks. "And she said that as long as it was ok with your dad and Becca, Beth could stay with you guys while she's in training in Colorado."

"That's great!" Payson's bright smile is illuminated with rhinestone flashes, lamplight bouncing off the shimmering leotard. But, suddenly, the happy expression falters.

"What?" Sasha reaches out to ask for her hand. She slips it into his and allows him to guide her to sit next to him on the bed. "What is it?"

"Dad," Payson says quietly, and Sasha feels the heaviness land on him too.

"Mark," he sighs. It's the one subject they've avoided talking about; revealing their relationship to Kim was one thing, how to handle telling her father is a different issue altogether.

"What are you thinking?" Sasha murmurs, drawing Payson to him and holding her loosely but close.

"That he's not going to be anywhere near as reasonable as Mom," Payson tips her forehead onto Sasha's shoulder. "And..." she hesitates, breathes, then sits back a little so she can look at him. "And I think I should tell him without you there."

"Payson," Sasha starts, but she places a quieting hand to his cheek, not flinching or apparently even noticing the scabbing scar tissue that must press into her palm.

"Realistically, you're not going to be able to be there with me for at least a month, right? And there is no way I can ask Mom to keep it to herself for that long. It's not fair on her."

Sasha pulls away and stands, shame that his failings, his bad choices, mean Payson will have to do this alone swilling through his stomach, but the movement is too quick and the sudden drop in blood pressure has his head swimming. Payson catches his arm to steady him and frustration slams his eyes shut as the heel of his palm connects with his forehead.

He expects Payson to speak but she just grips his forearm and waits it out while he breathes through his teeth and focuses on calming his suddenly hammering heart.

Fuck, he'd forgotten this part of recovery. Feeling almost normal, starting to believe you've found equilibrium, then wham! You're spun off course with no warning and the nausea and fear and guilt and panic slam back twice as powerful as before.

"I'm sorry," he manages to grit out and he hates the hiss that comes with it because he can't unlock his fucking jaw.

"It's okay," Payson says, calm and steady and this time it's she who guides him to sit down.

"I'll be alright in a minute." He works his jaw until he can feel the spasm start to ease. His heart rate is coming down and his fogged vision is clearing. "Can you pass me my Ipad?" he gestures at the tablet he brought with him and Payson retrieves the device without questioning the non sequitur.

"This is the rehab place Jake's recommended." He taps in the passcode and pulls up safari where the page is already open. "It's a behavioural therapy facility rather than a twelve step religious convert hunting ground." He manages a weak smile.

"It's up near Denver. Jake's pulled some strings and got me a place but it means I have to fly out of here Sunday morning. I've got a provisional flight booked but, Pay, if you need me to stay..." He catches her hand, threads their fingers together. She cups his cheek again, and pulls him toward her so kindly, his eyes fall shut with gratitude for her understanding.

"What I need is for you to be in a place where you can recover," she works her thumb over his jaw, trying to ease the still tweaking muscles. "A place where I know you're being taken care of."

"I'm so sorry…"

"Don't. You don't have to apologise for this, okay? Not brushing Phoebe after you've taken her for a walk? That you can apologise for." She nuzzles his nose and then grows serious. "But not for this, not ever."

Eyes still closed, Sasha swallows. "You know I love you, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do." Payson runs a hand over his shorn skull and Sasha arches into her touch. "And I know that whatever happens," she presses her lips to his ear so he can feel as well as hear her words, "you're not getting rid of me, Belov."

They wait, holding onto each other, until the last dregs of the panic attack drain from Sasha. As always, all his energy is taken with it, leaving him too tired to offer even a shred of resistance when Payson encourages him to lie down, pulls his shoes off, and tucks a blanket round him. He falls into a doze, focuses on the soothing sounds of Payson moving about the room, occasionally pausing in her preparations to go conquer the world again, to dust her fingers over his cheek.


	52. Chapter 52

**CHAPTER FIFTY TWO**

Rio de Janeiro may be washed by the warm waters of the pacific and watched over by a hundred foot statue of Christ, but Payson has discovered that in terms of traffic, the city of God is just the same as any other metropolis. Luckily, the minibus' current gridlocked position isn't causing her the stress such delays usually do as Marty, on the driver's advice, had called forward their leaving time.

"Drea sent me this photo last night." Beth holds up her phone so Payson and Kelly, sitting either side of her on the back seat, can see the picture of Drea wearing Beth's lucky Yankee cap and giving two thumbs up.

"And we're sure the hot brother is gay?" Kelly muses as Beth flicks through a couple more photos Drea has sent of her and Ryan.

"The hot married brother with a husband? Yeah, we're pretty sure," Payson says.

"Shame," Kelly gives a put upon sigh, returns to staring out the window at the roadworks that are causing the traffic problems, and quickly cheers up. "How about him?"

Payson follows Kelly's pointed finger to the builder leaning against a temporary barricade, overalls folded at the waist to reveal a bronzed, ripped torso.

"Don't make me get the hose, Parker," Payson warns, as Kelly gives her latest crush a little wave when he sees he's being watched and nods a 'how you doing?' at his admirer.

"Don't be a player hater, Keeler."

Beth is still chattering away about the phone conversations she had last night. "Mom and Bo are totally okay about me moving to Colorado to train."

"Who the hell is Bo?" Kelly pauses in her ogling of Rio's road workers.

"My step-dad."

"Your stepdad's name is Bo."

"Yup."

"What's it short for?"

"Bo. Why?"

Kelly blinks and Payson prepares to give her a well placed kick if her answer requires censure.

"No reason," Kelly says, tightly, as if it's taking great effort not to ask if one of Beth's half-sisters is called Peep.

"They're okay with you being so far away?" Payson interjects before Kelly's willpower gives out.

Beth nods enthusiastically. "It's always really hard for them to get me to practices and competitions, what with my little brothers and sisters, and all. It'll be better for everyone if i'm not there."

Payson watches the younger girl. If it were her, she'd certainly be struggling with what it meant about their relationship if her parents were happier that she didn't live at home.

"They'll miss you," Payson says, even though Beth doesn't seem to need the reassurance.

"I know. But me living in Colorado makes sense." Beth smiles at Payson. Clearly, in Beth's mind, her parent's love for her has nothing to do with the practicalities of raising her four younger siblings, so she has no need to question it.

Payson returns the smile, thoughtful.

The traffic lights finally flick to green long enough to allow the minibus to get through and continue it's crawl along the road.

"So are you gonna talk to me at all?" Marty, twisted round on the single seat beside the sliding bus door, tries for the third time since they met in the hotel atrium to engage Kelly in conversation.

Kelly doesn't answer. Marty sighs, and glances at Beth then Payson. "I heard about you three training with Sasha. That's great." He's really trying for enthusiasm and Payson is torn between staying out of the situation and encouraging Kelly to make peace with her former coach before the bars final.

An uncomfortable pause is interrupted by Chris, seated behind the driver, asking Beth if she wants to go through her vault final card, and Beth, first looking between Kelly and Marty, easing down the tiny aisle to relocate to the seat next to the junior coach.

The youngest gymnast sufficiently distracted, Payson readies to say something, just as Kelly finally draws her attention from the unmoving cars outside the window.

"Anyone ever tell you you come off as a little needy?" There's a haughtiness and petulance to the observation that both Payson and Marty can immediately identify as false bravado, but Payson pretends to be busy on her phone and Marty pretends to play along, not wanting to spook his former protegee now she's finally acknowledged his presence.

"Can't say that they have." He's perched on the edge of his seat, elbows braced on his knees.

Kelly studies him. "It's not an attractive quality."

"I'll keep that in mind." Marty nods as he answers. He pauses to allow Kelly further comment but, when all she does is continue to look at him, he takes it as the permission he's been waiting for. "Look, I know I screwed up. It was completely wrong and unfair of me to take the Rock job without consulting you."

"Yeah. It was." Kelly's words are sledgehammer blunt but her eyes aren't equally as brutal.

Marty bows his head, then looks at her again. "I'm so sorry that I hurt you."

Payson risks a glance toward her friend. Kelly is chewing at her upper lip, focusing on the hideous fabric of the seat in front while emotions skitter across her expression. A few moments and she retracts her teeth and redirects her eyeline.

"See?" It comes out a little hoarse so she coughs and starts over. "Totally needy."

"Doesn't make it any less true." Marty, struggling to keep his own voice steady, nods along with each word.

"I don't need your apologies," Kelly snaps, causing both Marty and Payson to start a little at her sudden change in demeanour, but then she arches an eyebrow and adds, "I need you to carry me to and from the bars podium. I want my Kerri Strugg moment. You do that? I guess I'll call off the hit I put out on you." She punctuates the instruction with a satisfied smirk that shakes a little with real emotion.

"See, I know that you're joking, but I'm still a little scared," Marty says around a tight chuckle.

"That's cause you're a smart guy," Kelly allows, wagging a finger at him as she qualifies her compliment. "You're needy and have a PHD in making bad decisions, but…" she trails off, turning her finger wag into a 'meh' tipping of her palm.

Marty's eyes are bright and his quick sniff doesn't go unnoticed. "Thank you, Kelly. And I just want you to know what an honor it's been working with you."

"Keeler," Kelly whines, tone deliberately dramatic, "tell him what that emotional look he's pointing in my direction makes me want to do."

Payson answers, profoundly relieved, and suddenly ready for competition. "I'd back away, Coach, 'cause her answer usually involves a warning she's about to vomit."

* * *

In the draw for positions in the vault final, Beth, the top qualifier, got third spot; Payson, sixth.

"You got your card with you?" Marty asks as Beth and Payson hand off bags to him and Chris to carry into the arena. He makes sure to look at Beth while he's speaking, giving her his full attention.

Payson, though firmly in RoboPayson mode, can't help but note the genuine warmth in Beth's "yes, Coach Walsh!"

He's left it typically late, but Marty seems to have realised how best to coach Beth. It's both endearing and infuriating. Had he done this before the team final, they could have won gold.

"One, two, three…" Payson murmurs the countoff of head and wrist rolls as she starts her warm-up with walking round the mat. By the time she reaches the power skips and arm swings of the cardio section, she's recaptured her focus.

Since this is her third competition day in the arena, the process is familiar enough that Payson can let the preparatory stages of lining up in the outer hallway, marching into the arena to pumping music and epilepsy inducing light displays, and being announced to the crowd, blur around her.

They are the only competitors currently in the arena. The men's floor, rings, and pommel finals are today, as well as the women's vault and bars, but all the events are staggered to give competitors who have qualified for multiple events time enough to prepare for the different disciplines.

The stands are full as usual but, for the first time, Payson can actually see where her mom is sitting. Team USA have grabbed seats at the front of the second tier, right beside the start end of the vault podium. She doesn't make eye contact, simply notes her mother's presence, then files the knowledge away until after she's vaulted.

"You set?" Marty asks, arms folded, watching the Australian Rachel Robinson, who drew spot one, jogging from foot to foot as she waits at the head of the runway for her allotted vault time to start.

Payson only nods, but that's enough of an answer for Marty, he knows not to pepper her with questions. Glancing at his profile, Payson suffers a moment's nostalgia - they could almost be back at Junior Nationals - and she wonders what would have happened had Marty not had an affair with Kaylie's mom.

Shaking the reminiscence away, Payson drops to the floor, reaching forward into a pike sit stretch, enjoying the pull along her hamstrings. She's vaguely aware of Chris sitting cross-legged beside Beth, talking the younger gymnast through final preparations, but Payson lets that fade into the background, just continues to visualise her roundoff, half on, layout 1.5 and double twisting Yurchenko.

As Jana Schneider finishes, Beth readies to mount the podium. Payson offers her fist for Beth to explode, then applauds and shouts, "let's go, Beth!" as the tiny girl trots up the steps to prepare for her first vault.

"You got this, Beth!" Chris hollers and Marty claps encouragement as Beth's name is announced over the speaker system and the buzzer signals permission for her to begin.

Payson looks at the carpet during Beth's Amanar, awaiting the thud signalling landing before lifting her head again. She smiles brightly so Beth can see, clapping as the younger girl walks back along the runway to prepare for the second vault. Chris walks with her, offering words Payson can't hear over the applause of the crowd.

Payson looks at the floor again during Beth's Produnova, but the explosion of cheers from the spectators when Beth's feet slam into the landing mat almost render not watching pointless; Beth obviously just hit two very impressive vaults.

Greeting her teammate with a high five, Payson is grateful when Chris picks Beth up and spins her round in a hug, moving them away to allow Payson space to switch back to preparing for her own vaults.

It's the first time Payson has been in the arena without any other event taking place, and the focused atmosphere and lack of noise from the other apparatus is odd. It also makes it impossible to ignore the scores of her opponents when they are read out over the sound system, so she tries to listen to the numbers without assigning them meaning.

"Game on," Marty says, slapping Payson's shoulder as they wait at the steps for the Russian, Klavidyia Fedorova, to leave the podium at the other end.

Payson nods, allowing adrenaline to shoot into her system.

The chalk bin is relatively clean, having serviced only five gymnasts so far, and there are no sweaty clumps as Payson rubs the white dust into her palms and bashes it against her bare soles.

Beside the digital scoreboard, Payson presses her toes into the mat, waiting for her name and start vault of 6.5 to appear.

At the buzzer, she steps onto her start mark, takes a steadying breath, and swings her momentum forward to launch into a sprint. She and Sasha decided to start with the layout 1.5 since it requires more elevation than the double twisting Yurchenko and they wanted her to compete it at maximum energy.

Unlike the all around final, Payson connects clean with the horse and lands dead centre without a wobble.

Marty slings an arm round her shoulders as, steadying her breathing, she walks alongside the mat she just flew down, resetting her mind.

Keeping her body moving, she waits for the scoreboard to show the 5.8 difficulty of her second vault, and for the judges to award the score for her first, even though she won't look at it when it blinks onto the main screen.

Permission granted to begin, Payson hops her weight into her starting foot to begin her approach run. When she reaches her mark, she throws her hands into the mat, pushes her feet into the springboard with perfectly practised pressure, allows the energy release to push her up and back with an arced spine so her palms can connect with the horse at the exact point where she can launch into the double twist with enough time to complete both rotations and land her feet squarely on the white central line of the landing mat. There is no need for her to even pause, she just uses the last dregs of momentum to curl up straight into the double armed salute that signals a completed vault.

"Yes!" Marty pumps his fists in jubilation, before snatching Payson into a hug from the second step of the podium.

As Marty sets her down, Payson looks at the main scoreboard for the first time. There's a punch of pride as she sees Beth's name right at the top of the list with an average score of 16.100.

"You got 15.9 for the 1.5," Marty informs.

"Double hit!" Beth exclaims, scrabbling over to her teammate, and hugging her around the middle.

"Way to go!" Chris raises his palm to meet Payson's high five.

Breathing hard, Payson tries to distract herself from the judge's deliberation by doing a couple of calculations. She can't overtake Beth - her difficulty values aren't high enough - but she feels she hit the second vault well enough to bring her average above Fedorova's current second position score.

"Payson Keeler..." the announcer starts but her thunder is stolen when the scoreboard updates a second before she can state the judge's decision.

 **1\. DEAN, B. (USA) 16.100**

 **2\. KEELER, P. (USA) 15.650**

 **3\. FEDOROVA, K. (RUS) 15.400**

Payson closes her eyes briefly and gives a small fist pump of satisfaction. Vault has been the apparatus where her performance has varied most during this championship and to have hit her two vaults cleanly is a relief.

She offers the TV camera the obligatory wave and smile, then, methodically, pulls on her track pants and team jacket, and goes through the motions of re-packing her backpack. By the time she's smoothed down any flyaways from her tight bun and secured her shoelaces, Ana Clara Cardoso has completed her performance and been awarded fifth place.

"One to go," Beth says, as Payson drops into the seat beside her. The girl is staring at the carpet rather than indulging in her usual surveys of the crowd and, instead of swinging her legs back and forth under the chair, she's entirely still.

"One to go," Payson repeats and takes Beth's hand for a quick squeeze. It's clammy. This is the most nervous Payson has ever seen her teammate.

Logically, Payson knows it's next to impossible for Anika Stein to displace either her or Beth from the top two spots - even perfect execution wouldn't cover the German's lower d-score total - but she will not consider the competition over until the final leaderboard is posted.

"Come on." Payson hears Marty muttering when it takes a few minutes for the judges to decide on the first vault mark.

Beth's hold on Payson's hand tightens as thundering footfalls signal the start of the second vault. Payson waits for the sound of the springboard. Instead, there is a gasp from the crowd followed by sympathetic applause, and Payson doesn't even have to open her eyes to know that Stein has pulled up without vaulting.

"Yes!" Marty bellows, dragging Payson up out of her seat and into a tight hug. Over his shoulder, Payson looks at the big screens where the final result has been posted.

 **1\. DEAN, B. (USA) 16.100**

 **2\. KEELER, P. (USA) 15.650**

 **3\. FEDOROVA, K. (RUS) 15.400**

When Marty puts her down, Payson finally lets the joy flow through her. It's official, she is the world's second best vaulter.

Applause and cheers echo from all corners of the arena but there's only one person Payson looks for. Her mom is out of her seat and leaning over the second tier barrier, cheering as tears stream down her face.

"Waterproof!" Payson hollers, laughing, gesturing at Kim's smudged mascara.

Kim gets her own back by tracing a heart in the air and bringing tears to her daughter's eyes too.

Hayley, Lauren, Kaylie, and Darby are just behind Kim, whooping and clapping.

Someone tugs at Payson's arm. She spins to find Beth looking up at her through eyes that appear almost scared. Immediately, Payson leans down to embrace her teammate, angling Beth away from the circling cameraman so she can whisper, "are you okay?"

Beth nods vigorously but seems unable to follow up with words.

"Just follow my lead," Payson instructs, before releasing Beth from the hug but keeping a tight hold on her hand. She waves at the camera - knowing NBC like footage of the medalists acknowledging the TV audience - and Beth does the same.

"Payson!"

Turning at the sound of her name hollered in unison by familiar voices, Payson's reflexes come into play as she just manages to catch the folded flag before it hits her in the face.

"Sorry!" her mom yells, having thrown it from the stands with more enthusiasm than aim.

Laughing, Payson unfolds the Stars and Stripes, drapes it round her shoulders, and then gestures for Beth to stand beside her so she can wrap the flag round her too.

"Just keep smiling," she whispers to Beth, as accredited photojournalists flock in front of the pair to get shots.

As is usual after a final, the area around the apparatus is alive with activity. As well as the celebrating medalists and accompanying media, there are crying gymnasts being consoled by coaches; others packing up their belongings, eager to get out of the arena as quickly as possible; and those for whom it was an achievement just to reach the final, wanting to prolong the experience, so are posing for pictures and savouring the atmosphere. Then there are the officials, fiercely protective of their timetable, who are trying to keep the process moving smoothly and swiftly so there will be no delay of the start of the next event, which is the men's floor final.

"Congratulations, ladies! If you can come with me, please!" A harassed looking man in a world's uniform is working to get the medalists away from the photographers, who are working equally as hard to get them to stay.

Payson allows a few more pictures then, since the official appears close to weeping, she thanks the photographers, and hands the flag off to Marty.

"Don't let them keep you after the ceremony," he reminds automatically, even though Payson is already moving onto the bars final in her mind, "or i'll send Kelly out to get you."

"That'd be a great podium shot; Kelly attacking photographers with her crutches," Payson laughs, joyful grin resetting each time she realises she's just won another silver medal.

"If you could please follow me, ladies?" The official is holding his headset a little away from his ear - there must be some yelling going on through the earpiece - and Payson takes pity on him.

"You got our stuff?" she checks with Marty and Chris, who hold up backpacks. "Thanks. Beth you set?"

Payson hadn't realised she'd moved but, when she looks round, rather than being beside her, Beth is standing rooted to the spot where they'd posed with the flag. She's not looking at anyone, clearly hoping it will mean no one will look at her.

"You ready to get a medal?" Payson jokes a little loudly as she jogs back over to Beth, hoping to distract from Beth's apparent shutdown.

"I don't know what i'm supposed to do," Beth murmurs, latching onto Payson's wrist like she's a life preserver, and Payson suddenly realises the nerves she witnessed were not Beth being scared she was going to lose, but scared she was going to _win_.

Payson mentally kicks herself. Hadn't Sasha once mentioned this was the part of Beth's participation in a major championship he was most concerned about? It goes against every tenet of a coach to prepare a gymnast for winning, not just because of the superstitious fear of tempting fate, but because procedures varied depending on the meet or event.

"Let's go! This way!"

The ineffectual official has been demoted and replaced with a woman Payson suspects has 'sergeant major' somewhere on her CV. The medalists are herded toward the gap in the stands that leads through to the entrance corridor, Beth clinging tight to Payson. Payson feels a little overwhelmed by the mass of people so she can only imagine how Beth, ten inches shorter than her at four foot six, must be feeling.

As they proceed into the familiar white cinderblock hallway, they are passed by the podium assembly team who will certainly earn their paychecks today having to hastily construct and then remove the medal rostrum five times.

"If you can wait here, we should be ready for you in eight minutes!"

As she draws Beth back against the corridor wall, Payson is about to quip "Is that to the second?" when she realises that Beth is actually shaking.

"Hey, it's okay." She puts her hands on Beth's shoulders, following Beth's rapidly darting eyeline to try and catch her attention.

"I need you to line up in silver, gold, bronze order. Full team uniforms, please. Follow the guy in grey, line up behind your step, wait for your name to be called - is she getting any of this?" Another irritable official with a tablet and a headset frowns at Payson when Beth continues to look dazed.

"I think we're good," Payson snaps, with a glare scathing enough to send the official scuttling off.

"Sorry...I'm a little early...totally my fault...I'm not interrupting anything am I?"

Easing his way through the mass of bodies with the slaying smile he's known for, Austin quickly switches the fake expression for his real smile as he reaches Beth and Payson.

"You know I coulda sworn I was supposed to be lining up for the pommel final right about now." Before he even finishes the joke, Beth throws her arms round Austin's waist and tucks her face against his ribs.

Concerned, Austin looks at a Payson for an explanation.

"She's scared about the medal ceremony," Payson mouths, and Austin identifies enough words to understand.

Easing Beth away from him so he can drop to a knee and look the tiny gymnast in the eye, Austin says, "You know what's so good about having Payson for a teammate?"

Beth, eyes painfully wide, meets Austin's gaze. It makes Payson's heart clench to see how hard she is struggling to concentrate.

"She lets me play with Phoebe during breaks at training?" Beth flicks her attention between Payson and Austin, waiting to see if she got the question right. Luckily Austin answers, because Payson is close to tears.

"That," Austin gives her a thumbs up, "but also, she is the absolute best at dealing with all this craziness." He gestures at the babbling circus up and down the corridor. "Which, I gotta say," he gestures to Payson to lean down so she can listen too, "really doesn't matter at all. You know what does matter?"

Beth shakes her head hard.

"That you and Payson are the best vaulters in the world, and you're gonna have a gold medal that you can take home and show your family."

Payson shoots Austin a look of total gratitude because Beth's face, previously so pale, is starting to flush through with pride.

"This ceremony thing takes five minutes, tops, and Payson knows exactly what to do, right?"

"Totally," Payson says, copying Austin's blase tone as the male gymnast stands back up. "Piece of cake."

"You'll tell me when I'm supposed to look at the flag?" Beth clutches Payson's hand.

"Of course. If you're unsure about anything, just look at me and i'll tell you what to do. For now, all you need to do is stand between me and Klavidiya," Payson shares a nod with the Russian who, as bronze medalist, will walk out first.

Some of the terror seeps out of Beth's body. "Okay."

When Beth drops to check her shoelaces are fastened, Payson nudges Austin. "Did you really think you were supposed to be lining up for pommel right now?"

Austin shrugs. "Timetables aren't my strong point." A cheeky smile pulls at his lips.

Payson shakes her head, grinning. "Aren't you sponsored by Rolex?"

"Your point?"

"They make watches. Good things for helping you keep to a timetable."

Austin pretend to look as if such logic is beyond his comprehension.

"Wait. Are you even in the pommel final?"

"Very good point. I'm in the floor final, aren't I? Knew I was in one of them today."

Payson elbows him and he drops character to smile.

"So," he says, lowering his voice a little, "scuttlebutt is you, Kelly, and the gold medalist here," he pats Beth on the shoulder, "are going to be training with Sasha."

Payson answers with a small nod.

"No chance any of that'll be happening at the Rock, i'm guessing?"

Again, Payson doesn't need words to answer a question.

"Right, of course not."

"Why do you ask?" Payson queries. There's sincerity in Austin's face she doesn't often see.

A shrug. "Would have been good to train with Sasha again. Didn't really get the chance to before and… Well, nevermind," Austin shrugs, eyes refocusing. "Congratulations again, ladies. I better get back to the ready room before that official whacks me with her clipboard."

With a high five for Beth, Austin bustles away, leaving Payson to wonder just how disaffected Austin is with the new coaching structure at the Rock.

"Okay, let's go!" The official hollers and signals for the medal procession to start walking.

Payson taps Beth on the shoulder to indicate she should follow Klavidiya.

Posture taught with pride, Payson beams as they pass under the entrance arch, and the arena once again erupts with applause.

Three finals, three medals. Not a bad tally so far.

* * *

"She's looking at me."

"She's not looking at you."

"Your eyes are shut."

"I'm focusing."

"You're ignoring me."

"Amazingly I can do both; it's called multitasking."

"She's still looking at me."

"Oh for god's…" Payson abandons her attempt to complete her usual pre-event meditation and opens her eyes.

The eight finalists for the uneven bars are grouped in the ready room, which means that Kelly Parker and Ivanka Kirilenko are being forced to share the same air, and that is never a recipe for harmonious preparation.

"Kelly, she's on the other side of the room with her back to you," Payson says, with much less exasperation than she would usually muster because she may not be able to meditate with Kelly sitting next to her, but she can at least keep her breathing slow and steady.

"She's looking at me." Kelly narrows her eyes into slits as she taps a finger on her folded arms.

"She's literally looking at the door."

"She's trying to catch me off guard."

Through an exhalation as she stretches both arms toward the ceiling, Payson informs her friend and soon to be competitor that she's being paranoid and if she starts in on the same post-cold war conspiracy theory that she waxed lyrical about during their warm up on the practice bars, Payson will be forced to gag her with a stretch band.

"You haven't got a stretch band," Kelly asserts, not taking her gaze from Ivanka's back.

"Because that's the important part," Payson mutters to herself as the room door opens and the male official who she first encountered after the vault final - was that really only an hour ago? - informs them that the men's floor medal ceremony is complete and it's time for them to line up.

"Where'd you stash your silver anyway?" Kelly asks, as she elbows past Sun Changying and Genghi Cho to get through the door first.

"Beth's looking after it," Payson answers, smiling apologies at the two Chinese gymnasts as she follows in Kelly's wake. "You do realise they drew first and fourth, right?"

"And?"

"And we got seventh and eighth."

"I repeat: and?"

"They're in front of us in line. You didn't need to barge them out the way."

"Oh Keeler," Kelly sighs her most patronising pronunciation of Payson's surname. "You always need to barge people out the way." She completes the life lesson with a pat to the taller girl's head.

Rather than rebuke her teammate, Payson falls into line behind her. They're back in the corridor, various coaches clutching backpacks grouped a few paces behind, officials with headsets and clipboards or tablets milling around, filler music blaring from the arena.

Waiting is always a big part of any gymnastics meet and Payson slowly jigs her weight from one foot to another, rotating her wrists to keep them supple, not bothering to keep track of how long they're being kept here.

She suddenly remembers the first night in Rio, how worried she was about being seemingly dragged in so many different directions that focus of any kind seemed beyond her capabilities. Perhaps it's due to the steepness of the learning curve she's experienced during this championship that she no longer has concerns there is any distraction that can knock her mind out of sync for the vital minutes of her performance.

Self-congratulation is not an indulgence Payson permits, but as the announcement of the bars finalists starts to ring from the arena's speakers and the line begins to march, the smile on her lips does not have to be forced.

The line proceeds out from the corridor, snakes under the temporary arch emblazoned with the Worlds 2011 logo and sponsors, turns left down the carpeted gulley, and winds between the various podiums until it reaches the one showcasing the uneven bars.

As ever, a rows of chairs is set up against the sponsorship board barricades and Payson claims one, waiting for Marty to catch up and hand off her and Kelly's backpacks.

"She must cut those bangs with a spirit level," Kelly says, loud enough that Ivanka, three chairs down, arches one perfectly sculpted eyebrow in her opponent's direction.

"Maybe you lend me Mickey Mouse ears you use as template for hair?"

Kelly replies with her most cutesy grin, as if friendly teasing was the hallmark of her relationship with the Russian. The expression immediately morphs into a scowl as she turns back to Payson.

"Are you done?" Payson asks, unzipping her jacket and starting the series of exercises she'll use throughout the competition to keep her arms warm. She's not a fan of performing last; at least she wouldn't be if she allowed herself to have an opinion on start positions.

"For now," Kelly concedes, haughtily, before stripping off her jacket and holding it out for Marty to take.

"And here I was thinking I was surplus to requirements," Marty quips, keeping hold of the jacket, knowing Kelly will want to put it back on in a few minutes.

"Lucky for you, you're pretty, else we wouldn't allow you to sit with us," Kelly informs him, gifting him with a head pat this time.

"I'll be sure to tip my hairdresser," Marty retorts, keeping an eye on the podium as Sun Changying prepares to begin her routine.

Payson smiles at the floor as she reaches her hands to the carpet. The banter is not as natural as it once was but at least a truce has been reached between the pair, and Marty is able to make use of his knowledge that any talk of Kelly's ankle will be detrimental rather than helpful.

Bars is a long competition and Payson lets her body go through the motions of keeping warm while she keeps her mind as still and steady as possible. Images of the day so far float through her mind, but she simply watches them pass by rather than try to catch hold. Occasionally, an eruption from the crowd or a cameraman shuttling past or a scathing comment from Kelly - "i've seen drag queens with subtler eyeshadow" - pull her back into the present, but otherwise, she registers no information about the routines going on in front of her. It's only when Marty is giving Kelly a final pep talk that Payson finally snaps out of the self imposed haze.

It's a little jarring - as it always is - to suddenly get hit by the noise ricocheting about the vast compound, but Payson's senses quickly adjust and she holds a fist out for Kelly to bump, as she notes the judges conversing at their table over what score they intend to award Ivanka's routine.

"You're not serious," Kelly says, glancing witheringly at the proffered knuckles.

"Do it as a goodbye present for Hayley." Payson waggles her fist.

"You are turning me into a total sap, Keeler," Kelly sighs, but taps her knuckles against Payson, fully commits to the 'explosion', and takes Payson completely by surprise by dragging her into tight hug.

Payson is so surprised that she barely gets the opportunity to return the embrace before Kelly is releasing her and jogging up the steps to the podium, to all appearances like her ankle is one hundred percent healthy.

"You got this, Parker!" she hollers, clapping along with Marty as Kelly takes her place between the uprights, facing the lower bar.

Payson doesn't actually watch the majority of Kelly's routine, bowing her head instead as she checks her hand guards and wrist supports, and swings some final arm rotations. But at the moment she feels Marty tense beside her, she flicks her eyes up, knowing that Kelly has just released for her double layout dismount.

Sasha once memorably used an analogy of a foosball table player to explain the flat body position the spinning dismount requires. Kelly's legs and torso are poker straight as she pivots once, twice mid air. She's on course for a perfect landing, but this will require her feet almost sliding to a sudden stop as they connect with the mat. It's brutal pressure on the ankles. Payson winces as Kelly's body weight slams into the ground, all the impact absorbed through her heels. There is not a flicker of movement as Kelly rises immediately, arms aloft to salute the perfectly stuck landing.

"Yes!" Marty pumps his fist, as Payson feels a proud thrill thrum through her, prickling goosebumps.

There is no time for any celebration though, instead she must cool every emotion, banish every distraction - even the sight of Kelly being forced to hop off the landing mat, face contorted with pain, eyes swimming with tears that must hurt the proud gymnast as much as her ankle, as Marty picks her off the edge of the podium to carry her to the nearest chair.

A flinty resolve hardens each nerve ending as Payson narrows her focus to include only the podium steps, then the chalk bin, then the eight foot lengths of wood coated fibreglass as she sprays on and then rubs in the sugar water chalk solution she's tailored over the years. She senses Marty's presence rather than sees him; by the time he's there, Payson is already positioned between the uprights, awaiting the start buzzer. Her last conscious thought is to punch away the fear of falling that tries to catch at her heels as she jumps into the first move.

When she watches the routine back, Payson will have no direct memory of being that girl on the screen, not even of taking the large side step to secure the dismount. As she and Sasha will spend a lot of time discussing, what she experienced wasn't so much focusing on the moment as mentally disconnecting from it, and finding a balance between the two will be their goal in the run up to London.

But such introspection is not possible until much later.

"How bad is she?" Payson asks over Marty's shoulder as he embraces her.

"It's a good thing you made her get those crutches," Marty says, briefly gripping the back of Payson's neck as they jog over to where Kelly is sitting twisted sideways in a chair so her leg can rest on the adjacent two seats.

"Well?" Payson, breathless, drops into the chair next to her friend. Kelly doesn't answer, just nods at the main screen. For the first time in the competition, Payson allows herself to look at the leaderboard.

 **1\. KIRILENKO, I. (RUS) 15.300**

 **2\. HUGHES, P. (GBR) 15.250**

 **3\. PARKER, K. (USA) 15.125**

 **4\. GENGHI, C. (CHI) 15.075**

"Poppy Hughes?" Payson whispers, impressed but surprised to see a Brit in the medal positions.

"Better get MJ to check what they're putting in her tea," Kelly murmurs back.

There's a flurry of movement over at the judge's table. Payson rests a hand on Kelly's shoulder and Kelly reaches back to grab it. Both of them stare determinedly at the scoreboard, waiting. There's a flicker as the digital numbers and letters start to rearrange. Payson feels her breath still as, after rapid flashes of yellow, the final result becomes legible.

 **1\. KIRILENKO, I. (RUS) 15.300**

 **2\. HUGHES, P. (GBR) 15.250**

 **3\. PARKER, K. (USA) 15.125**

 **3\. KEELER, P. (USA) 15.125**

 **4\. GENGHI, C. (CHI) 15.075**

"Oh my god!" Payson squeals, as Kelly screeches, "no freaking way!"

Payson throws her arms round Kelly, pulling her back against her chest. Kelly, pliant and busy laughing "you're such a copycat, Keeler!" smacks a loud kiss to Payson's cheek.

In a mishmash of gleeful laughs, Payson helps Kelly to stand, where upon each girl is promptly swept up in a one armed hug by Marty.

"Well done you guys!" A delighted British voice singsongs beside them and Payson disentangles from her teammate and coach to turn and offer her own congratulations to a half sobbing Poppy Hughes.

"You were awesome!" Payson enthuses, sincere because though she may not have seen the routine, the score tells its own story.

"I can't believe any of this is actually happening!" Poppy clutches her hands together at her chest by way of securing the Union Jack flag draped round her shoulders.

"I know what you mean!" Payson agrees, just as a scrum of photographers converge on the silver and bronze medallists, demanding some group photos. A Stars and Stripes appears from somewhere and Payson finds herself sandwiched between Poppy and Kelly who, beaming from ear to ear, has been scooped up in Marty arms.

"Kerri who?!" Kelly leans down so only Payson can hear, and their shared laughter as they unfurl the flag and hang it between them resonates through every camera flash.

A few feet to the left, Ivanka, the gold medalist, has deliberately remained apart, sharing her photos with the Russian flag and no one else; even after she has won, the Russian will not let her carefully cultivated reputation of aloof independence falter. Payson catches her eye and winks. She is met by a rare nod of respect from Ivanka.

Either there are more people milling around than after the vault final, or the crowd is louder, or maybe it's fatigue catching up with her, but Payson starts to feel a little hazy, and she's relieved that she can simply follow Kelly's lead, suiting up in the national team uniform before leaving the arena to make the medal ceremony re-entry.

Marty's arms are full carrying Kelly - and trying not to jolt her because pain is creeping back into her expression - so Payson shoulders both backpacks and trots after them, pausing only for a quick sweep of the stand she knows her mom is in. As they were this morning, her mom, Darby, Hayley, Lauren, and Kaylie are cheering wildly. Added to their number is Beth, jumping up and down enough to have the gold medal she's wearing swinging back and forth.

"How do you want to play this?" Marty asks when they've reached the seclusion of the outer corridor, standing as far to the side as he can to avoid anyone jostling Kelly's ankle.

"Payson's volunteered to give me a piggyback." Kelly tries to sound blithe but a quickly stifled groan ruins the effect as Marty follows her non-verbal instruction to put her down.

"And the serious answer?" Payson slips an arm around Kelly's waist, taking the bulk of Kelly's weight as her friend balances on one foot.

"Crutches." Kelly looks at Marty who nods in understanding and jogs away to fetch the supports.

"They better have two bronze medals prepared because i'm not sharing," Kelly mumbles, leaning her head against Payson's shoulder.

"How about I go get the medals, you two wait back here?" Austin, newly won floor gold medal round his neck, eases Payson aside and slips his arm around Kelly's waist to take her weight.

"Keeler, what is he doing here?" Kelly groans. Despite her tone, she accepts Austin's assistance and leans into him.

"I thought we decided you weren't in the pommel final," Payson quips, referencing the final that will take place after the bars medal ceremony, and whose participants are filtering into the ready room further down the corridor.

"I'm not, but I was watching you guys in the physio room and, hey, I can't resist a damsel in distress. Ow!"

"Parker, hitting people is not a good way to show gratitude," Payson advises her friend.

There's more jostling in the corridor. One of the equipment officials runs past, hand pressed to his ear piece. Payson only catches the words "...malfunction in the…"

"Do you think he was talking about the rostrum?" Payson, after glancing up and down the corridor for more clues, addresses Austin.

"No idea," Austin says.

"Maybe you should sit down. We may have to wait a while." Payson turns back to talk to Kelly and suddenly her worries have nothing to do with how long they'll have to wait to get their bronzes.

Kelly is sagging against Austin, pallor ashen, and eyes tight shut with obvious pain.

"Seriously, Parker. Sit down." Payson steps to the other side of her friend, exchanging concerned looks with Austin.

"If I sit down," Kelly says, voice shaking, "I'm not getting up again."

"Kelly," Payson warns. "What aren't you telling me?"

Kelly swallows, and opens one eye to look at Payson. "On the dismount, I may have felt something in my ankle crack."

"For god's sake, Parker!" Payson exclaims, as Austin immediately scoops Kelly up into his arms and starts toward the medical room. "Why the hell didn't you say anything?!"

"It wasn't hurting anymore than usual and I figured I could do the ceremony and get it looked at after," Kelly argues, using all her remaining strength to hold her leg as still as possible as Austin carries her. "Only it kind of hurts a bit more now."

"Yeah, that's called adrenaline wearing off. Excuse me, we need to get through!" Payson turns her anger on the people blocking their path down the corridor.

"What's going on?" Marty, crutches in one hand, a couple of protein pouches in the other, shoves his way through to them just as they reach the doctor's room.

"Ask Ms Too Proud To Say She Thinks She Broke Her Ankle," Austin retorts, kicking the door open and placing Kelly very carefully on one of the empty examination beds.

"You are such a drama queen, Tucker." Kelly muffles a groan as she tries to sit up and fails.

"And you're too stubborn for your own good," Austin fires back, tone much more angry than the fingers he rests on Kelly's forehead to keep her from trying to move again.

Marty props the crutches against the wall and runs out the room, calling, "I'll get Jake" over his shoulder.

Payson, standing on the other side of the bed to Austin, grips Kelly's hand. Kelly looks up at her.

"I wanted to get my medal," Kelly whispers, suddenly sounding very young.

"You're still going to get your medal," Payson promises, fighting hard to keep her lip from trembling.

Kelly's eyes stay on Payson. They're full of tears.

"Okay, what have we got here?" The on site doctor bustles over. "I'm Doctor Silva," she says, automatically slipping off her stethoscope to check Kelly's heart rate, "and by the amount of tape you've got on it, i'm guessing the problem is with your ankle."

"She's got existing stress fractures," Payson says, working to keep herself composed. "Our coach has just gone to get the team doctor - he's got all her records."

Doctor Silva deftly eases away the bandages and does a cursory examination. Kelly flinches at every careful touch. Payson clasps her friend's hand tight in both of her own.

"We'll need some x-rays," Doctor Silva says, "which means hospital…"

"Not yet," Kelly hisses, and Austin lays a gentle palm on her shoulder to keep her laying down.

Doctor Silva smiles wearily. "Don't worry. I have dealt with enough gymnasts to know not to waste my breath trying to convince you to go straight to hospital when there is a medal to collect."

A touch of relief filters across Kelly's face.

"So painkillers and a splint it is. And you," she turns to Austin, "are you a safe pair of hands?"

"No," Kelly frowns. "No, no, no. It's already decided; Payson's going to give me a piggy back."

"I am not giving you a piggy back," Payson says, her laughter a little hysterical.

"Doctor Silva, you have my word I won't drop her." Austin ignores Kelly and turns his highest level of charm on the medical practitioner.

As Doctor Silva prepares an injection of pain relief, Kelly continues to mutter about "useless best friends who muscle in on the medal rostrum" and "ego maniacs who want to steal my thunder", but, belying her words, she holds tight to Payson's hand and lets her eyes fall shut when Austin strokes her arm.

* * *

"And don't try and be funny by pretending to drop me." Kelly adds another order to the ten or so she has issued in past fifteen minutes.

"You don't want to make the ESPN blooper reel?

"Shut up, Keeler. You're supposed to be on my side."

"I am literally on your side, Parker." Payson gestures to their current position.

The women's vault medal procession has gathered behind the entrance archway, in the shadowed area under the stand. They're twenty minutes later than timetabled, but since there has been a malfunction with the pommel horse, the pressure of moving on to the next part of scheduled events is eased.

The painkillers have taken effect, Kelly's ankle has been strapped, and she is held tight in Austin's arms, her splinted leg sticking out at a strange angle. Payson is standing next to Kelly.

"Put this away," Kelly orders, not waiting for Austin's permission before she unzips the top of his jacket, and tucks his gold medal out of sight.

Austin smirks. "I know, I know, don't be a thunder stealer."

The three of them are at the back of the line, behind Ivanka. Her disdainful Russian accent audibly scoffs, "Americans."

"Excuse me?" Kelly darts a hand forward to tap Ivanka on the shoulder.

"Da?" Ivanka deigns to turn her head a fraction so she can see the bronze medalists out the corner of her eye.

"If you've got something to say, you can say it to our faces."

"I say, Ameri-cans." Ivanka's lips curl in contempt. "Always making trouble. Thinking they better than rest."

"We are better!"

"Who win gold?" Ivanka queries innocently.

"She's just winding you up," Payson interrupts as Kelly bristles with fury. "Don't rise to it."

Ivanka gives Payson a cool nod. "She smart one."

Luckily, the procession starts to move before Kelly can voice her outrage.

As they file out under the entrance arch, the filler music in the arena shifts to the orchestral piece used to accompany all the medal ceremonies.

Payson can't be sure, but it looks like there are more camera flashes than during the previous ceremonies. It would make sense, she and Kelly winning a joint bronze and Kelly being carried out by the men's all around champion would certainly count as a good photo op.

As Payson walks just ahead of Kelly and Austin, following the route set by Ivanka and the silver medalist Poppy Hughes, her excitement - which was displaced by anxiety for Kelly - returns. A silver and a bronze in one day. Twice the American flag has been flying because of her achievements. She may not have won either event but, as she and Sasha agreed, this championship is about hitting, not winning, and she has hit today.

They approach the medal rostrum in the order of silver, gold, and bronze, so there is no confusion over which step they need to stand behind.

"You have reached your destination," Austin impersonates a satnav voice and Payson laughs, as much at Kelly's feigned eyeroll as the joke.

The music lowers in volume as the medal presenters are introduced to the crowd.

"Just so you know, Keeler, they announce your name first and i'll shave your eyebrows off in your sleep," Kelly says through her trademark media darling smile.

"Can you believe she was never voted Miss Congeniality at gymnastics camp?" Payson deadpans to Austin.

"Bronze Medalist, representing the United States of America…"

"Here we go," Austin murmurs, as Payson stands up straight.

"...Payson Keeler!"

Payson gifts Kelly a triumphant grin just before she steps up onto the rostrum and waves to the cheering crowd. Mini American flags are fluttering amidst the sea of colour. Payson tries to take a hundred mental pictures before bowing a little so the official can slip the medal ribbon over her head.

"Bronze medalist, representing the United States of America…Kelly Parker!"

One advantage of coming third is that the bronze medal podium step is a lot lower than silver or gold, so Austin is able to place Kelly on her good foot easily and hold her until Payson has slung an arm round her waist to take over support.

"Don't worry, I'm not a thunder stealer." Austin winks, then kisses first Payson's cheek and then Kelly's. "This is your moment." He jogs off after a salute of acknowledgement to the charmed crowd.

"Enjoy your remaining time with you eyebrows, Keeler," Kelly whispers, giving Payson's bronze medal a quick poke.

The dignitary returns with the second medal and, with Payson's assistance, Kelly shakes his hand and ducks her head. Together, matching bronze medals a contrast to their white jackets, they wave to the crowd with the hand not anchored round the other's waist.

The flower bouquets come next, and then the attention moves to Poppy Hughes, who upon hearing her name announced, starts to cry again. The Union Jack is still draped round her shoulders.

Payson suddenly realises she has no hands free to applaud, so hopes the quick "whoop" she gives as Poppy receives the medal, suffices. It doesn't seem an appropriate display of respect for Ivanka though so, when it's the gold medalists turn, Payson gives her flowers to Kelly to hold so she can slap her palm against her leg as a clapping alternative. Since Kelly has no intention of clapping the Russian, she doesn't object to holding the extra bouquet.

It takes a bit of maneuvering, since Kelly is able to put no weight at all on her bad leg, but the pair manage to pivot to face the flags for the anthems. There is no way she can make it up to the gold medal step for the usual photo of the medalists grouped together, though.

When the event's media rep indicates they should take the photo standing on the floor instead, Ivanka, having to jump down from the top step far sooner than she would have liked, again mutters, "Americans."

Luckily, Kelly is too preoccupied in getting down from the bronze section of the rostrum to hear, and Payson finds the sotte voce more amusing than infuriating.

"Did you ladies order a cab?" Austin asks, jogging back onto the floor once it's clear all the photos are done.

"You know, Tucker, after all these years, I think I may have found a use for you," Kelly says, slipping her arms round Austin's neck as he picks her up.

"Whatever painkillers she's on, order more," Austin tells Payson with exaggerated enthusiasm. Kelly gives him a sharp tap on the head with her flower bouquet.

"Come on cab driver, let's go," Payson instructs, giving Austin a little nudge.

Though she'd love for them to join in the lap of honour Ivanka and Poppy are just starting, it's more important to get Kelly to a hospital.

* * *

As the elevator doors swish closed, Payson sags against the handrail, ears throbbing. She can sense Beth hovering beside her and is glad when the younger girl doesn't say anything, just pushes the button for the thirteenth floor.

Media took longer than usual, the questions yelled at her by the paparazzi outside the hotel were louder and more pressing, and Payson needs a moment to compose herself before facing what she's certain will be a manic Sasha.

The elevator halts its trajectory and issues its welcoming 'ding'. Payson takes a deep breath as the door open.

The corridor is empty, the only sign of inhabitants Sasha's propped open hotel room door.

"Where'd everybody go?" Beth queries, nervously fidgeting with her gold medal as she follows after Payson.

Payson doesn't answer. Worried adrenaline is coursing through her again. She'd expected Sasha to be waiting for her, desperate for information and frustrated that he hadn't been at the arena to help.

No noise emanates from any of the rooms. Payson finds she is on tiptoes as she reaches Sasha's open door and peers round the frame.

"Hello?" she ventures.

Sasha is sitting down, attention on the cell phone in his hand until he registers her greeting. He puts the phone on the desk and levers out of the chair. "Come here," he says as he crosses the room.

Surprised and profoundly relieved by his calm demeanour, Payson folds into Sasha's outstretched arms. She's shivering and is comforted when he holds her tighter.

"Hey there, Champ," Sasha says over the top of her head, twisting them round so he can face the doorway directly. "Come on in."

Beth shuffles into the room. She's swaying from side to side in a way that reminds Payson of the morning Drea's drug test result came through. She reaches out a hand and Beth latches on.

"Shall I tell you what I already know and you can fill in any blanks?" Sasha asks, and Payson silently nods, breathing in the scent of his cologne.

"Kelly went to the hospital with Marty and Jake. MJ and your mum are on their way there. The on site Doctor suspects the stress fractures have worsened but they can't say anything for sure until they've done x-rays. MJ will call me as soon as she hears anything."

Payson studies each piece of information. "Think that covers it. Beth?"

Beth, gently swinging Payson's hand, closes one eye as she thinks. "Other than Austin secretly wanting to move to Denver and train with us? Nope."

Payson's eyebrows shoot up. "How did you know that?"

Beth shrugs. "When we were lining up for the medal thingy he was asking whether Sasha and us would be training at the Rock, and you told him no, and he was really disappointed."

"Wait, Austin doesn't want to stay at the Rock?" Sasha frowns.

"That's the impression I got, but the bit about training with us is all Beth," Payson says, uncurling from Sasha's embrace so she can shut the door. The others could be back any minute.

"He was upset yesterday because he thinks he didn't do as well as he should in the all around and only won gold because his main competition were ill or injured," Beth continues. "And Sasha was a really similar gymnast to him so it would be make sense that training with Sasha would teach him more than he could learn from Marty."

Payson exchanges an incredulous look with Sasha. Beth smiles proudly.

"Anyone else you lot have recruited?" Sasha asks, moving across the room to fetch his beeping phone.

"Not yet," Beth says, holding her gold medal like it's an ocarina.

"That from Mom or MJ?" Payson asks as Sasha looks at his cell.

"No, it's from Hayley," Sasha says. "Beth?"

"Yup?"

"Hayley wants to know if you'd like to watch some movies with her tonight?"

Payson covers her smile as Beth answers with an enthusiastic "yes, please!" She suspects Sasha contacted Hayley while they were still at the arena to make sure there was someone to keep an eye on Beth tonight.

Sasha's phone beeps again. "Brilliant. She says she'll be back in about an hour."

"I better go shower!" Beth sprints from the room, gold medal and rucksack bouncing.

When the door falls shut again, Payson, temporarily bolstered by Beth's enthusiasm, feels her exhaustion return. She drops down onto Sasha's bed.

"Do you need physio tonight?" Sasha sits beside her, taking her hands in his.

Payson shakes her head, eyes closed. "I had a good session before we did media."

"So you need to shower and you need to eat."

"But those things involve moving," Payson grumbles, slumping against Sasha's shoulder.

"Room service?" Sasha suggests, keeping hold of Payson's hand as he stands up, giving it a little tug to encourage her to join him.

Reluctantly, Payson pushes to her feet. She feels dopey and close to tears, and is annoyed at herself for feeling either. Kelly's in the hospital. She needs to be strong.

"Why don't you give me your key and i'll go get you some clothes while you have a shower, and then we'll order room service?"

Sasha brings her hands up to his lips as he peers down at her, and how is she supposed to resist those green eyes?

"Good plan," she murmurs, pushing up to kiss him.

* * *

Sasha pushes the door shut behind him, feeling like an intruder. Payson and Kelly's absence makes the room seem cold, despite the early evening sunlight creeping past the half-closed curtains. It's wrong that this room is empty at the very time it should be ringing with excitement at their joint achievement.

Sasha's hands try again to coil into fists. It took a hell of a fight with his own demons to stay calm when Payson and Beth returned to the hotel. He'd paced the corridor for twenty minutes, glaring at the elevator display, wanting to get to Payson as soon as he possibly could. Then he realised how selfish that was, to make her deal with his manic guilt. So he'd forced himself back to his room and spent a very long hour and a half making do with texted updates from MJ.

Watching today's competition was one of the hardest things he's ever had to do. Through a TV screen he witnessed every situation he should have seen with his own eyes. He was supposed to be there; it was his job to be there. And yet he had sat in a hotel room miles away and watched as Beth experienced a near breakdown when faced with a medal ceremony he should have been there to talk her through; as Kelly had deliberately masked her pain, a pain he would have specifically looked for, knowing the condition of her ankle; as Payson had shouldered the burden of looking after her teammates, a burden that should have been his.

His breath is coming in short spurts again. Sasha gives himself five seconds to unclench his throat and refocus on why he's here. _Clothes. Clothes for Payson_.

Clothes for Kelly wouldn't be an issue, seeing as they're scattered all over the room, but finding Payson's involves opening and checking drawers. He's not surprised to find Payson's possessions grouped in logical collections, t shirts and vest tops, trousers and shorts, bras and… Oh.

 _Fetching her clothes means fetching her underwear, you idiot,_ Sasha scolds himself for not realising that before, and for reacting like a teenager to the sight of his girlfriend's knickers.

"Immature dickhead," Sasha mutters at himself, grabbing a pair of black panties and a matching bra and slamming the drawer shut.

He selects a pair of shorts and a long sleeved t-shirt that looks comfy, then stares at the dresser top, which seems to be displaying every cosmetic product ever made. He picks up a roll-on he assumes is deoderant and squints at the label.

"'It Stays! Roll on body adhesive'," he reads aloud. Right, the infamous butt glue.

He tries again, this time finding the deoderant. He also manages to identify what he thinks is the stuff Payson sprayed on her hair last night and locate the weird plastic brush. He thinks about taking her some flip flops but instead selects what look like the oldest - and so comfiest - sneakers from the bottom of the wardrobe and tops his pile of items with a fresh pair of socks.

Giving the room a last once over, Sasha sees Kelly's grey bear sitting on the nightstand. There are two bronze medals and a silver next to it, ribbons looped carefully over the teddy.

* * *

"Hang on, MJ, I'm gonna put you on speaker. Payson!"

Payson jogs out the bathroom, fresh clothes on and hair partly blow dried. Sasha is holding his cell so she can hear MJ's slightly echoey voice too.

"You both there?"

"Yup, go ahead," Sasha confirms.

"It's a bad news good news situation," MJ's voice explains. "Bad news is she needs surgery, good news is that she doesn't need it immediately."

"Meaning we can get her back to the States to see a specialist?" Sasha asks.

"Exactly. They're going to set the leg in a temporary cast and she can fly home as scheduled on Monday. Jake's already spoken to her consultant in Denver and he can assess her Tuesday."

"Does she have to stay at the hospital tonight?" Payson asks.

"No. She's getting the cast done now and then we can bring her back to the hotel."

"That's great," Payson sighs, relieved.

"Yes it is. Hang on a second. What's that, Kim?" MJ's voice is fainter for a moment and then comes back to full volume. "Payson, your mum wants to know if you've eaten."

Payson rolls her eyes and spears a forkful of rice from the plate of room service delivered twenty minutes ago. "I'm eating right now. Tell Mom it's yummy."

"I'll do my best to relay the brevity of that message." Poor cell reception does nothing to tarnish MJ's sarcasm. "Sasha? You still there?"

"Hanging on you every word."

"As it should always be. What time's your flight tomorrow?"

Sasha's face hardens. Payson, eating the last few bites of her meal, tries to swallow quickly so she can ask what's wrong.

"Payson, please tell him that leaving as scheduled tomorrow does not mean he is shirking his responsibilities."

There's an awkward silence. Sasha turns to face the window, arms crossed so tight his shoulders are straining the back of his t shirt.

"Will do," Payson says, voice a little shaky. She had entirely forgotten that Sasha is leaving in the morning.

"I'll speak to you both later." MJ rings off without waiting for a reply.

Payson watches the cell shift back to its home screen, is still watching as the backlight fades and finally disappears to black. She realises she's still got the empty fork in her hand. She misjudges the distance to the plate and the silver clangs as it lands on the china. Sasha doesn't flinch at the sudden sound.

"You need to go." Payson speaks without thinking the words through. "Sorry, I meant…"

"I know what you meant." Sasha remains at the window. Carefully, Payson steps round the bed to stand beside him.

As usual, Rio is fighting the night. Ribbons of luminescence edge the darkened bay, a constant flow of vehicles. Even sequences of yellow box lights shine from the charcoal structures of the business district. Up in the hills, the favelas are glowing dimly, no specific light sources are visible, just an underlying hum of green and gold.

"I feel like i'm abandoning you. All of you." Sasha's unblinking eyes are trained on the view but Payson knows he's not seeing it.

"You're not," she murmurs, and even to her own ears the reassurance sounds hollow.

Sasha's arms are still folded taut. Payson doesn't know if she should touch him.

"We need you...I need you, to get better." She watches Sasha's profile. His eye is reflecting light.

"I shouldn't have let it get to this point." The confession is soft.

The cuffs of Payson's long sleeves hang over her fingers. Her nails pick at the already frayed material.

"You told me the other night that we don't deal in 'could haves'. I don't think it helps us to deal in 'should haves', either."

To the extreme left of their view, a firework sails into the black. Shards of red explode and fade.

"You're right, I know you're right." With obvious effort, Sasha huffs out a shallow breath, and manages to drop his shoulders. He looks at Payson's reflection, then turns his head to look down at her directly.

Balancing on tiptoes, the kiss Payson presses to Sasha's forehead is delicate but powerful. Seconds pass. They watch each other, lips millimeters apart. Sasha's hands cup the back of Payson's thighs, fingers creeping beneath the hem of her shorts. She's strong enough that he barely has to lift. Her legs go round his waist, arms round his neck, holding her own weight so it doesn't rest on his ribs.

Still, they wait, tension making them both shiver.

"Sasha," Payson murmurs, eyes closing as her nose brushes his, as she pulls her legs tighter, her arms tighter, until she's cinched around his body.

Sasha's heart is hammering, Payson can feel it pressing against her chest. Her own pulse is throbbing in her throat. She almost moans when his hands clench, when his fingers press deep into her skin.

"We…" Her breathing is shallow, gets shallower when Sasha opens his lips against her throat.

"...Can't. I know." His voice scratches along her skin.

Payson feels his deep sigh all the way through her, feels some of their joint urgency ease. She dips her head, guides him up to look at her. There's no embarrassment, no disappointment, as they once again stare at each other, foreheads rested together.

Nose wrinkling as she smiles, Payson pecks a tiny kiss to Sasha's top lip. "Just so you know, Belov. I was going to say 'we can't _right now_ '. When you're back to full fitness and I don't have a competition however…" she deliberately trails off, shucks her eyebrows, and pecks another kiss.

The tenderness with which Sasha nips and tugs at Payson's bottom lip is incongruous to his almost feral growl. As Payson turns it into a deep kiss, she unlocks her ankles from his lower back and slowly lets her legs slide down his body until she is once again standing.

By silent agreement, they let the kiss dwindle. Not willing to cede all contact, Payson threads their fingers together, chuckling when her long sleeve bunches up against his cast.

"Do you know what we need to do right now?" Payson says, her deliberately provocative phrasing darkening Sasha's eyes. She answers her own question just as his lips touch her neck. "Make a to-do list."

There is nothing desirous about Sasha's groan this time. He leans his face into her shoulder. "We do?" The question is muffled by fabric.

"We do," Payson affirms, pushing gently at Sasha's shoulders to lift him away. "Because there's a ton of stuff that needs sorting." She doesn't add that if they don't keep busy over the next few hours she's going to experience some kind of overload, but her face must give her away because Sasha's brow furrows.

He tightens his grip on her hands. He's about to hug her, try and comfort her, but suddenly Payson can't handle his touch. Again, Sasha must read her face because, with a quick squeeze, he releases her fingers and purposefully steps away.

"How about we start with the stuff i've already sorted?" His voice is neutral, businesslike, and, if not for the slight shudder in his jaw, Payson would think this was just a normal day.

"Sounds good," Payson replies, forcing herself to play the same role he is. They can do this.

"Since Tanner made it plain yesterday that my home could soon end up in a police compound, I called a mate this morning. He's going to pick up the truck and the airstream and drive them to the trailer park. My old pitch is still vacant. Which, not exactly shocking considering Tyler's unneighbourly habits."

"Does he have keys? Your friend, not Tyler, I mean." Payson sits on the edge of the bed she suddenly realises she's going to miss.

"There's a spare set in the office, told Rick to go in and ask for them. And I emailed the office; they're expecting him."

Sasha crouches in front of his nightstand, roots around the top drawer and drags out a set of keys. "These are for you," he says, concentrating on working two keys off the metal ring.

"Me?" Payson frowns as Sasha places the keys in her palm and closes her fingers over them.

"The truck is yours to use whenever you like, insurance is covered. Don't worry about the Airstream but have the key just in case." Sasha gives her hand a squeeze and then he's back to rifling through the drawer.

"Oh. Ok." Payson feels the metal ridges pressing into her skin. She can drive and has her license, but she's never had a car she could use without having to ask her mom first.

"And Reece went to the bureau de change for me this morning." Pushing the drawer shut, Sasha sits back, withdrawing some bills from his open wallet.

"Sasha…" Payson swallows. She may have earned a two hundred and fifty thousand dollar bonus from a sponsor this week, but, again, the only cash she's ever held has been given to her by her parents.

"This should get you a few tanks of petrol and cover everything Phoebe needs while I'm away." Sasha looks as uncomfortable as Payson feels.

Reluctantly, Payson takes the cash, embarrassed and not entirely sure why. She estimates how much it is in her hand. "Sasha, if I fed Phoebe caviar every night I wouldn't need this much."

Sasha coughs and refolds the wallet. "I didn't leave much gas in the tank. Use if for that."

"But…"

"Please, Payson." Sasha's voice is suddenly loud and both of them flinch. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, hunching forward, elbow on knees.

"It's okay," Payson says. She's got keys in one hand and cash in the other. "It makes sense, I know, it just feels weird taking this from you."

Sasha scrubs his head with both hands and releases a deep sigh. "While we're on the subject of necessary but weird, I have to hand in my mobile when I...when I check myself in, but there are pay phones I can use at certain times and…" he stops when Payson stands up.

"Carry on," Payson urges, "I'm just putting these somewhere safe. Can you email?"

"I think so. I'll let know everything when I get there."

Tucking the keys and cash in an inside pocket of her backpack, Payson issues what she hopes is a supportive smile.

"I've told MJ that any deals have to be okayed by you and Kelly." Sasha stands, slips his hands in his pockets and begins pacing. "Obviously you can't sign anything until you're 18 but since that's in a few weeks there shouldn't be a problem."

"What is it?" Payson looks up from zipping her bag shut when Sasha goes quiet.

He's standing over her, guilt again marring his face. "I'll miss your birthday."

Payson pushes to her feet and lays a palm against his stubble covered cheek. "We can celebrate when you get home."

"Might actually be a good thing," Sasha sighs. "Don't think you dad's going to be setting me a place at the table."

"Maybe next year?" Payson tries to joke.

Sasha, hands still in his pocket, rocks on his heels. "When are you going to tell him?"

"No idea," Payson admits, turning attention back to her bag to give herself something to distract from the sudden nausea. "I guess me and Mom will talk about it." She starts stuffing her competition clothes in without bothering to fold them as she usually would.

"Don't forget this."

Payson looks up and sees her new bronze medal dangling from Sasha's fingers.

"Do you think they always have spares?" Payson blinks away sudden tears and digs in her bag for the small presentation box.

"They should just ask you if you've got one in stock," Sasha smiles, when the first box she opens is already occupied by her vault silver. "Four world championship medals. Has it sunk in yet?"

"Hadn't even thought of it like that," Payson admits. She repacks her silver and pulls out the other box, unlooping the ribbon from Sasha and pressing the disc into the molded velvet. "So what time is your flight tomorrow?"

"I have to leave here about six am."

Payson nods, ignoring the sudden lump in her throat. Such an early start means they'll have to say goodbye tonight.

"Do you want to talk about the finals?" Sasha asks.

Payson sits back on her heels, thinking. Outside, another firework explodes. A half smile pulls at her cheek. "I've got a better idea."

* * *

"I thought going for a moonlight walk on the beach would involve more walking," Payson muses. "And more moonlight." She squints at the gloomy sky.

"There's a shooting star. That not romantic enough for you?"

"That's a plane, Belov."

"Is it?" Sasha laughs as Payson gives him a look of fond exasperation. "At least there's beach," he offers, with a conciliatory kiss to her ear.

"And sea." Payson deliberately pauses. "Just a toe," she pleads, giving Sasha her best pout.

"No," Sasha ignores the lip, or at least he tries to. "You are not going anywhere that water."

"It's a private beach, it's clean," Payson argues, gesturing to the litter free sand around them.

"I'm not worried about what's on the beach, i'm worried about what's in that water."

"I wasn't planning on drinking it."

"Fine, go wade in sewage," Sasha invites, gesturing toward the oil black surf gently oozing over the sand a distance away.

"Sewage, Belov? Really romantic." Payson deadpans.

"Are you not happy where we are?" Sasha asks, nuzzling Payson's neck.

She tries to remain aloof but her giddy smile betrays her. "I'm totally happy with where we are," she admits, twisting her head so she can meet Sassa's kiss. "Though

you do realise if someone gets a photo of us like this, MJ may kill us both."

"She's all talk," Sasha scoffs. Payson draws back to stare at him. "Okay," he concedes, "she'll kill us both. But I think we picked a safe spot."

The cove sits at the far end of the hotel's private section of beach, a natural recess in the sheer twenty foot rock face. They'd found a set of steep steps at the back of the hotel, which allowed them to bypass the set leading down from the swimming pools, where a large band of revellers has gathered to take advantage of a Saturday night happy hour.

Not that either are dressed in a way to make them particularly recognisable. Payson's grey shorts and raglan shirt have no team USA emblems on them, and Sasha, long baggy shorts and grey hoodie, would probably not have been spotted even if he had worn his team uniform; his shaved head and damaged face are too much of a contrast to the appearance most people would associate him with.

They're at the base of the cliff, where shadow hides them from the light residue spilling from the buildings above. Sasha has one leg stretched out, one crooked at the knee. Payson is sitting in the space between, knees to her chest with Sasha's arm looped around her middle.

The tide is out and, though it's cloudy, the air is warm. Still, Payson snuggles back against Sasha's body, and he props his head on her shoulder so they're as close as possible.

"I was just thinking, Belov. There's still a lot I don't know about you," Payson says, Sasha's stubble tickling her cheek.

"You know how I take my coffee, you know the passcode on my phone, and you know how I feel about American bacon." Sasha shrugs his mouth. "What else is there to know?"

"I still don't understand how someone can feel so strongly about bacon."

"Says someone who's never tasted _real_ bacon."

Payson twists so she can press her forehead against Sasha's. "Enough about bacon." She gives him an exaggerated scowl. "I meant stuff like, what's your favourite movie, what was your first car, your favourite song."

"Okay," Sasha gives her a quick kiss and Payson settles back into his embrace. "Favourite film? Unforgiven. I nearly wore out the video when I was a kid. You?"

"Lilo and Stitch," Payson says, hitting Sasha with a preemptive 'do not make fun' look.

"That's a cartoon, right?"

"Animation," Payson corrects. "First car?"

Sasha thinks for a moment. "My dad kept an old Dacia in the car park at the gym. Any gymnast could use it, as long as they returned it with a full tank of petrol. I used it sometimes to drive home when dad was working late."

Payson frowns, doing some quick calculations. "I didn't think you trained in Romania after '98?"

"I didn't."

"So how old were you when you were driving?"

"13." He laughs at Payson's incredulous look. "I was tall; I never got stopped. Even if I had, dad knew the local police. The country was four years out of communism but bribaby was still the best currency back then."

Tiny granite islands rise up out of the ink-black ocean. A gloomy green halo etches some of the thinner clouds. Payson shrinks back, a little unnerved by the eerie colours, and Sasha's description of a country and a political climate of which she has no experience, that passed into history before she was born. Sasha holds her closer.

"Favourite song?" she asks, wanting to ask more about Romania but realising this is not the night for such reminiscence.

"You first."

"Welcome to the Black Parade by My Chemical Romance," Payson answers immediately.

"Really?"

"Don't sound so stunned."

"Not stunned, just a little surprised." Sasha pauses, fighting a smile. "Never would have taken you for a goth."

"Alright, Belov," Payson glares. "What's yours, then?"

"Can you inherit a favourite song?" Sasha's tone is suddenly pensive and Payson decides against teasing him.

"Depends on who you inherited it from."

"Mum."

There's a slight break in Sasha's voice. Payson twists so she's sitting sideways, shoulder against his chest, and stretches her legs out under his crooked knee. She threads her fingers through his.

"Then yes, you can definitely inherit a favourite song. Now spill."

"I warn you now, it's the most eighties song you've ever heard. I'm talking full on electro pop." Sasha withdraws the arm he still has around Payson's waist so he can retrieve his phone. They both squint at the backlight.

"No matter what mood my mum was in, what the situation, this song always made her smile. And sing very loudly. Especially if it came on the radio when she was driving me and a couple of my teammates to training." He's trying to downplay how much the memory means to him, but his hand is shaking as he cues up the song.

From the phone's tiny speaker comes what sound like autotuned panpipes.

"Wow," Payson says, fighting a smile as an electric guitar and a synthesizer add to the tune. "This is…" She can't think of an adjective that won't be an insult to his mother's taste in music.

"An assault on the ears, I know. Just wait until the drum beat kicks in."

Sasha pushes the volume up to maximum. Sure enough, a drum beat arrives in a surge of tempo.

"You know what the worst part is about this song?" Sasha says, when the song has gone through a verse and a chorus.

"What?"

"It gets inside your brain and you don't even know it."

"Huh?" Payson glances at Sasha's knowing smile. It's only then that Payson realises she's swaying to the beat and humming the tune. "Oh my god," she exclaims, laughing incredulously. "And how do I know the words already?!" She slaps at Sasha's arm but he's too busy laughing at her expression.

"You've infected me with your favourite song, Belov!" Payson accuses, shifting round so she's kneeling between his legs, hands on his shoulders, glaring down at him.

Sasha catches her hips and there's tears in his eyes as he watches her smile. "You have no idea how much my mum would be laughing at us right now."

It's Payson's first experience of how close grief can be to joy. She's crying and she's laughing and she's singing along to a song that usually she would have switched off after the first five seconds, that now she clicks to repeat as the synthesized chords start to die away.

Sasha moves to stand as the intro blares for a second time. Payson helps him, phone now gripped in her hand.

Echoed strains of latin music roll down from the hotel, a Saturday night party just getting started, while the waves continue their eternal rush of water eroding stone.

Illuminated from below by the phone's backlight, Sasha's face is mostly shadow, but pinpricks of white reflect from his shining eyes. Behind him, the overcast sky blurs with the oil black ocean, creating an infinite horizon.

"I realise there's no moonlight, and no shooting stars," Sasha says, reaching a hand toward her, "and the sea could very well be full of sewage, and I can only sway from side to side, but, Payson Keeler, will you dance with me?"

Payson takes a second to memorise this moment, then laces her fingers through Sasha's and slips an arm round his waist.

"When you put it like that, Sasha Belov, how can I resist?"

* * *

A/N: The song is _Together in Electric Dreams_ by Philip Oakey

So this is the penultimate chapter of At the Edge. It was always my intention for this story to go from World trials through to the end of the championship. It's taken a longer journey than I anticipated but we are nearly there!


	53. Chapter 53

**CHAPTER FIFTY THREE**

Payson wakes with no idea why. The room is dark; there's no bleeping alarm; there are no shaken limbs or shouted names. She's was asleep and now she's not.

5 and 18. The digital clock numbers take a moment to register meaning. Eighteen minutes after five in the morning. It's three hours before she needs to be conscious.

She blinks and then rubs her eyes. She was wrong. The room is not dark, not entirely. There is a thin streak of light haloing the curtains.

Kelly is an unmoving shadow. Jake gave her a sedative last night so she will be out for hours.

Mouth dusty, Payson drains the glass of water she always sets by her bed. Space on the nightstand is becoming sparse. Bear is half buried beneath medal ribbons. Hand too unsteady to guarantee she won't knock something off, Payson carries the glass with her to the bathroom, and sets it down beside the sink.

She pulls on the shaving light cord, squints at the harsh glare, has to keep her eyes narrow slits while she relieves herself and flushes the toilet.

A pale face peers back at her from the mirror. It looks exhausted. Payson grips the edge of the sink. The porcelain is cool against palms she didn't realise were hot. Her whole body is hot. Was that why she woke up? She turns on the tap, holds her hands beneath the streaming cold water, then her wrists.

The clock said 5:18. That means Sasha is still in his room, but it would do no good to go to him, their goodbyes were said last night. Payson grips the sink again, tries to still a sudden surge of fear. What if something happens? What if last night was the last time she ever sees him?

She's being ridiculous. The pale girl in the mirror glares at her.

 _Are you going to go running to your boyfriend because you had a nightmare?_ A voice in her mind demands.

A nightmare. That's why she woke up. Payson presses a fist against her mouth, frissons of terror threatening to drag a choking sob from her tight throat.

The content of the dream is blank. No images or sounds. But the fear, the white hot adrenaline of fear, remains.

She sits before her knees buckle, back sliding down the sink unit, legs folding up beneath her. She's shivering, her entire body humming with panic. In the absence of memories of the nightmare, her mind is conjuring associations.

Hurtling toward a mat neck first, reverberations shuttling down her spine on impact.

Squealing tyres, razor shards of flying glass reflecting blinding headlights.

Sasha's face, closed eyes and ripped skin, all coated in warm blood.

There's a strangled whimper Payson tries to force back inside. But when she has to breathe, it comes again, bringing tears with it. Her mind is relentless, picture after picture. She tips to the ground, curls on her side, silent sobs wracking her body.

* * *

"Keeler, you look like hell." Kelly, sitting upright in bed, leg resting on a mountain of pillows, frowns at Payson's reflection.

"Yup," Payson agrees with a sigh.

"Which is my way of asking...you know." Kelly flaps a hand in Payson's direction.

"If I'm ok?" Payson fills in the blank. "I'm fine, Parker. Just tired."

Kelly brightens up. "I've got lots of pills over here." She gestures at the nightstand. "I'm sure we kind find you something to wake you up." She frowns. "Then again, considering the reason your boy is on a plane right now, maybe we shouldn't push the pharmaceutical option".

Payson sweeps another sheen of lacquer over her bun. No braids or ribbons today. There's something comforting in the familiar taught scalp and neatly pinned hair.

Kelly, wrinkling her nose, says "would you like a hug? It's not something that would make me feel better but being the sentimental sap that you are I thought I'd offer."

With a slow smile, Payson looks over her shoulder. "You're all heart, Parker."

"Get your ass over here, Keeler, I haven't got all day." Kelly holds out both arms.

Payson feels like weights are strapped to her ankles as she moves from her stool to Kelly's bed.

They're at an awkward angle because of Kelly's bulky leg. Payson rests her head on her friend's shoulder. Kelly pats at Payson's back.

"Are you trying to swat a fly or something?"

"I'm comforting you," Kelly snaps, but switches to rubbing circles.

Payson's eyes start to drift shut. She hadn't managed any further sleep after crying herself into a headache on the bathroom floor.

"Keeler?"

"Mmmm?"

"Would it ruin the moment if I said I needed to pee?"

Payson smiles. "No, Parker."

"Keeler, I need to pee." Kelly shrugs Payson off her shoulder and swings her legs round. Payson has to move quickly to prevent getting kicked by the support boot.

Kelly uses her new underarm crutches to hop over to the bathroom. Payson returns to applying eye makeup. Or at least that's the plan. She's staring vacantly at the supplies on the dresser when Kelly stabs the bathroom door open.

"You have to pick it up," Kelly says, hopping over, as Payson flicks an eyeliner pencil and watches it roll across the wood grain.

"Is my base even?" Payson asks, looking up so Kelly can check for foundation lines.

Kelly studies her a moment, then, without warning, pinches Payson's face.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?"

"You needed some colour in your cheeks."

"Then tell me I need more blush," Payson says, flinching away when Kelly's pincer fingers reach out again.

"Trust me, blush isn't gonna cut it," Kelly says, arching an eyebrow at Payson's reflection.

"Thanks for the tip," Payson says, but her sarcastic rebuke is lost in the joint sounds of knocking at the door and a series of beeps from Kelly's phone.

"Morni...sweetie, are you ok? You look terrible," is Kim's greeting as Payson opens the door.

"I'm fine, Mom. Just tired," Payson says, as Kim bustles in, pulling her daughter into a concerned hug.

"Well, we need to get some protein in you, then," Kim says, palm to Payson's forehead.

"I don't have a fever." Payson sighs but allows her mother to fuss.

"Very glad to hear that, considering." MJ is concentrating on her cell screen as she enters the room.

"Considering what?" Payson asks, shutting the door and wearily walking back to the dresser. She swears this room got bigger over night.

"Considering the statement just released by the Russian team," MJ says. "It seems…"

"That total coward!" Kelly exclaims. She's perched on the edge of her bed, frantically reading her cell.

"It seems," MJ continues, as Kim fusses a furious Kelly into elevating her ankle, "that Miss Kirilenko has been struck down by a stomach virus and won't be competing today."

Payson blinks. "Is this a joke?"

"No joke, honey," Kim assures, slotting another pillow behind Kelly's back.

"Thanks, Mrs Keeler," Kelly mutters, still distracted by what Payson assumes is the official Russian statement cued up on her phone.

"Sorry, have to take this," MJ says when her cell starts to ring. "Yes, I've seen it…" Her voice fades as she heads out to the balcony.

"That calculating little bitch." Kelly finally looks up, scowling.

Payson frowns. "Ivanka's sick. She can't help that." There's as little sympathy in her mother's expression as there is in Kelly's. Payson's certainty falters. "Right?"

Kelly takes a deep breath. "Cho's favourite on beam. As much as I hate to give her credit, Lauren's not far behind. You own Ivanka's ass on floor. She quits now, she's three for three in gold medals. She competes today? No way she makes it five for five."

"But, that's not… I mean, how…" Payson struggles to comprehend the premise of Kelly's argument. "I don't understand."

"Every podium Ivanka's been on with you so far, she's been a step above. She's not going to sully that visual going into an Olympic year."

"That's insane."

"No, that's professional sport," Kim puts in. "I know, I know, it's not something you'd ever do," she continues, seeing the incredulity on Payson's face. "But it does seem very convenient considering the situation."

Alone, Payson would never have questioned Ivanka's motives. Does that make her naive? If she's one of the top gymnasts in the world, shouldn't she know how the game is played?

MJ comes in from the balcony and joins in the conversation Kelly and Kim are sharing. Payson should be part of that discussion, arguably should be leading it. Instead, she lets the voices fade into the haze of her mind and checks the tracking app on her phone. Sasha's delayed flight has just taken off.

* * *

 _Welcome back to the last day of competition here are the 2011 World Artistic Gymnastics Championships. And let us start by bringing you right up to date with some breaking news._

 _Tim, this competition has been dogged with unexpected events and it seems there is one final twist in the tail._

 _It certainly does, Elfie. In a statement released this morning, the Russian Federation has confirmed that Ivanka Kirilenko will not be participating in today's competition due to the effects of a nasty stomach bug. Ivanka was, of course, due to compete in both the beam and floor finals._

 _There's a real sense of shock here in the arena, Tim. Ivanka showed no signs of sickness yesterday, where she won gold on the uneven bars, adding that title to those she already earned with the Russian team and individually in the all-around._

 _True, but if you cast your mind back to the men's all-around event, Vasily Petrov's performance did not reach his usual high standards and the reason given there was illness, so could be that a virus is making its rounds through the Russian team._

 _Unfortunately, it seems like that's what's happened._

 _Elfie, does this blow the finals wide open?_

 _It certainly will have an impact as Ivanka was expected to medal in both. Genghi Cho was the top qualifier on the beam and remains the favourite for gold on that apparatus, but the absence of the Russian champion certainly favours Payson Keeler and Lauren Tanner._

* * *

In the team and all-around competitions, gymnasts are allowed a few minutes warm up at the start of each rotation to get a feel for the apparatus. In the event finals, they are expected to begin their routines immediately and all warm ups have to be done in the practice gym.

"Kirilenko's so faking," Lauren says, while she and Payson wait for a chance to use one of the beams. "Not that I'm complaining."

Payson hasn't spoken to Lauren since the all-around final, but finishing twenty-third doesn't seem to have affected her teammate's confidence. Whether that is the case when they're back under the crushing pressure of competition remains to be seen.

"Seriously, Payson," Lauren snaps when Payson doesn't reply. "I know you're all about good sportsmanship crap, but one of our major rivals is spending today chucking up in a toilet somewhere. Can't you, like, crack a smile?

Payson's eyeballs hurt, like they're suddenly too big for their sockets. A waving hand cuts into her vision.

"Are you okay?" Lauren repeats Kim's earlier action and checks Payson's forehead for fever. When Payson doesn't bother to shrug the hand away, Lauren's expression shifts from annoyed to alarmed. "Marty said Parker's back at the hotel, that she didn't have to stay in hospital."

"Yup," Payson confirms, watching Larissa Ungureanu fumble through a double spin.

"So what's wrong?" Lauren pushes. She never was a fan of being left out of the loop.

"Nothing. I'm fine, Lo. Just tired."

"Tired," Lauren repeats with obvious scepticism.

"Yup."

Lauren continues to study her. "Must be exhausting hauling around all those medals. Should get Austin to carry you like he did Parker."

Payson goes to rub her eyes - they feel so dry - but Lauren slaps her fingers away. Make-up. Right.

"And here's where you yell at me for being petty and insensitive and whatever else you feel like accusing me of being."

Payson knows Lauren is trying to provoke a reaction from her, can anaylse like she's watching from across the room. Why isn't it working?

The Romanian completes a final run through of her dismount then vacates the apparatus.

"Beam's free, Lo," Payson says, wondering why she feels no urgency to take a turn herself.

* * *

"Representing the United States of America, Payson Keeler!"

Muscle memory carries Payson through the wave and smile. She's struggling to keep up with time, the sense of dislocation she's felt since she woke at 5:18 is getting worse rather than better.

This is a World Championship final. It's an epic occasion, a culmination of years of work. So where is the adrenaline, the pride, the determination? You shouldn't have to remind yourself that you're participating in a major final.

Genghi Cho is the first gymnast up, Lauren second, herself third. This is the time Payson usually fills with visualising her routine. So why is her brain throwing out unrelated images? What has standing on Chloe Kmetko's doorstep being told Emily is going to keep the baby got to do with an aerial? How is overhearing her mother and father discussing bankruptcy, or watching Kelly collapse on Austin, related to her spin sequence? How does imagining Sasha getting drunk at the airport help her with the job she has to do in a few minutes time?

"You okay?" Marty stands beside her, arms folded.

"I'm fine, just tired," Payson hears herself repeat what has become a mantra.

Cho throws a perfect side somersault. Payson notes the foot placement then remembers she shouldn't be watching.

"Sit down, Payson. Few deep breaths and visualise your routine."

Payson follows Marty's instructions without comment, without bristling at his presumptuousness that she doesn't have every second of preparation time planned.

Marty takes the seat beside her, and stays beside her, letting Darby escort Lauren to the podium. Payson only notices because his shoelaces are untied.

Her mind starts to drift again. Where has this disconnection come from? Last night was perfect. Only it wasn't, was it? There were moments of perfection, yes, but they were right next to moments of heartbreak. Can you feel so much that you suddenly can't feel anything?

Or, as she seems insistent on telling everyone, is she actually just tired? After so many weeks of pressure and fight, have her energy reserves finally run dry? So much has happened off the mat, a miscalculation in terms of energy distribution would be understandable, right? On this last day, does she simply have nothing left to give?

"Jacket off," Marty instructs and, again, Payson follows orders.

Applause erupts from the crowd. Lauren is waving, then jogging down from the podium, face alight.

"Awesome!" Marty calls, as he steers Payson by the shoulders up the steps. He drops his voice, and puts his back between her and the circling camera. "You got this?"

Payson peers up at her old coach. She's not used to his look of uncertainty being directed at her, can't remember when a "you got this?" question wasn't rhetorical.

"I got this." Payson isn't sure if it's a lie or not.

Trusting the springboard position to Marty's judgement, Payson chalks her palms and soles. Waiting for her allocated time to begin, she looks at the main scoreboard, distantly noting that by doing so she's breaking one of her strictest rules.

 **1\. GENGHI, C. (CHN) 15.450**

 **2\. TANNER, L. (USA) 15.400**

The digital screen next to the beam shifts to display her name and d-score. Payson waits for a shot of adrenaline, a rush of focus. Nothing happens. She's curious rather than panicked.

"Let's go, Payson!" Darby's voice stands out against the semi-quiet of the waiting crowd.

Technically, Payson could touch the beam and walk off the mat, scratch her routine.

 _Wait. Did she just consider giving up?_ She did. She is.

Something stirs inside. Not adrenaline, not a sudden surge of energy, but something, something deep, almost like an allergic reaction to the idea of quitting.

Payson Keeler does not give up. No matter what happens, that central tenet of her very core will never waver. It's who she is.

Palms meet springboard, feet meet beam. Payson glides from the mount into her first split jump, driven more by shock than by any conscious thought of starting her routine.

The thousands of repetitions she has completed in training are her saviour. She can't seem to connect her mind to what's happening but her body has taken over and is carrying her through.

Back walkover to back handspring lands solid. Aeriel into wolf jump her position is perfect. Single spin, step out, double spin, step out, she floats through the sequence. It's the final spin where the fatigue in her legs proves too heavy. She doesn't fight gravity, just drops to the floor.

A sympathetic groan rolls through the crowd.

All that's left of Payson's routine is the dismount. She's just lost a full point. Nobody would blame her for not getting back up. At least, nobody but herself.

Again, it's repulsion at the idea of quitting that drives Payson to hoist herself up, to complete the interrupted single spin, to dance her way to the far end, and to override every survival instinct in her body and throw herself back blindly, trusting skill and luck to help her hands find the four inch piece of wood and launch into the 2.5 twist.

The mat hits both feet evenly. Payson unfurls for a salute to the judges, then steadily trots down the steps. Darby hugs her first, then Marty. Both say something she doesn't hear.

She drops down in the seat next to Lauren, who hands her a jacket with a tight smile. The pair don't exchange words, just watch the scoreboard. A camera operator is crouching down in front of them, lens tilted up to capture reaction.

Payson can't judge how long the score takes to come in. Lauren sucks in a breath as the numbers start to move.

 **1\. GENGHI, C. (CHN) 15.450**

 **2\. TANNER, L. (USA) 15.400**

 **3\. KEELER, P. (USA) 14.000**

"Well done!" Lauren pulls Payson into a side hug. Payson is too tired to care that there's a touch of condescension in Lauren's congratulation.

A fourteen flat has no chance of placing in the medals. It means Payson has become a spectator in this competition, an outsider. It's not a position she's used to.

Payson feels no animosity as she watches Ioana Gheorghe go clean, no frustration that so far she herself is the only one who has fallen. She's actually astounded she was able to muster a well executed routine that would have scored well if not for that fall.

Marty scoots Lauren over so he can take the seat between her and Payson.

"Concentrate on your breathing and use this time to rest," he murmurs. "I'll handle Lauren." The last is said a little tightly.

Payson hides a half smile. Lauren is focused entirely on the scoreboard yet has managed to grab Marty's hand. Her grip is apparently a little strong.

"Oh thank god," Lauren sighs quietly when Gheorghe's score is posted.

 **1\. GENGHI, C. (CHN) 15.450**

 **2\. TANNER, L. (USA) 15.400**

 **3\. GHEORGHE, I. (ROU) 15.100**

 **4\. KEELER, P. (USA) 14.000**

Payson joins in the applause for Gheorghe, and plays the part of the good sport with the subsequent gymnasts, but her attention is not on the world-class gymnastics going on in front of her. She's aware of Lauren bristling with increasing tension, of Darby with an arm locked round Lauren's shoulders while they nervously watch the scoreboard, of Marty's growing concern for the bone structure of his hand, but she's doing as he suggested and resting. She can't close her eyes of course, but she can dampen her senses, can observe the thoughts flying through her mind with indifference rather than dwelling on them, can relax her muscles deliberately instead of letting fatigue do the job.

"Yes! Oh my god!"

Payson blinks. Lauren and Darby are on their feet, embracing. Genghi Cho has a Chinese flag wrapped round her and is posing for cameras. The crowd are cheering.

"Don't worry, i've been standing in front of you," Marty reassures when Payson jumps up, clapping, looking around to see if anyone noticed she had no idea the competition finished.

Payson shoots him a grateful smile then looks at the scoreboard.

 **1\. GENGHI, C. (CHN) 15.450**

 **2\. TANNER, L. (USA) 15.400**

 **3\. GHEORGHE, I. (ROU) 15.100**

 **4\. WANG, X. (CHN) 14.800**

 **5\. UNGUREANU, L. (ROU) 14.575**

 **6\. KEELER, P. (USA) 14.000**

 **7\. KUZNETSOVA, M. (RUS) 13.600**

"What happened to Marta?" Payson asks, surprised to see the Russian with such a low score.

"Pressure. She..." Marty is interrupted by Lauren's exuberant hug.

It doesn't matter. Payson doesn't need any further explanation to figure out what happened. Ivanka pulling out means all the Russian expectation fell on Kuznetsova's shoulders. It was a burden she apparently wasn't able to carry.

After half-strangling Marty, Lauren turns to Payson. She has a Stars and Stripes round her shoulders and wears a smile that is suddenly a little nervous.

Payson has known Lauren for three years, has spent more time with her than she has her own family. Maybe that's why now, when Lauren is glowing with success but obviously wary of how Payson will react, Payson can muster no bitterness for Lauren's callous attitude during a lot of this championship.

"You did it, Lo. I'm so proud of you."

They are words Payson couldn't have imagined ever saying to Lauren after their fights this week, and yet they fall from her mouth without hesitation.

Lauren's lip trembles, and Payson is just able to catch her as she tips forward and throws her arms round Payson's neck. Maybe it's literally having to hold up Lauren's body, but Payson feels some of her usual strength return to her muscles.

When the moment's over, Lauren, batting at her eyes and trying to save her makeup, pulls away. "Next year it'll be gold." She's trying for haughty but is reminding Payson so much of the 14 year old Lauren that Payson can't be exasperated by it. "Remember I said that, Pay. So I can put it in my book."

"I'm making a mental note as we speak," Payson deadpans.

Both of them last five seconds before breaking into the first honest smile they've perhaps ever shared.

* * *

The four stall bathroom is off the locker room. Payson wonders if it's mental association, or if it really does have the same colour scheme as the bathroom at the Rock.

She's starting to come back to herself. The face in the mirror isn't as distant as it has been all day, her mind isn't as hazy. Even her vision feels sharper. Is it possible to have a hangover without having drunk a drop of alcohol?

"Just when I need your area of expertise, Belov," she murmurs to herself, imaging Sasha's reflection grinning over her shoulder.

The men's parallel bars final is in progress, so Payson has about an hour before the floor final is scheduled to start.

"God, you'd think people would see the silver medal and get out the damn way." Lauren barges her way through the main door and immediately gravitates to the mirror without showing any sign she's noticed Payson.

Payson's witnessed Lauren's 'I'm pretending to be too important to talk to you but please pay me attention' routine too many times to buy it for a second.

"Cho try and upstage you in the photos?" Payson says, leaning back against one of the sinks and trying to look serious. Genghi Cho's sweet temperament makes the accusation laughable.

"She totally did!" Lauren exclaims. "I mean, excuse me, but you won by point oh-five. Not exactly a mandate."

Payson lets her neck hang back, enjoying the stretch. The ceiling is low enough she could touch it without needing tiptoes.

"What happened to you anyway? I mean, 14 flat? Ew." Lauren is still fiddling with her ribbon braids, not looking at Payson.

"I told you earlier. I'm tired." Payson sighs toward the ceiling, eyes closing.

"Bullshit." Lauren is suddenly right beside her.

Payson jumps. "Jesus, Lauren."

"Payson Keeler doesn't get tired, not on a competition day." When Lauren focuses all her attention, her stare can be unnerving.

"Don't know if you heard but it's been a long week." Annoyance starts to bubble in Payson.

"Bullshit."

"You said that already."

"It needed saying again."

Payson turns back to the mirror and twists on the tap. Her hands are suddenly hot.

"Look, I know we did the whole dramatic, 'I'm done with you, you're done with me' thing, and whatever weird moment we had earlier doesn't change that," Lauren continues.

The flowing water runs cold. Payson holds her wrists in the stream.

"And, just FYI, if you're doing what I think you're doing and trying to get Austin to quit the Rock and join Team Sasha, we are so gonna throw down again in the future."

"There's a but coming, right?" Payson flicks off the faucet and watches the excess drops run down her skin.

"But," Lauren enunciates each letter, "maybe the silver medal round my neck is making me feel generous, or maybe it's because we're part of some weird gymnastics sorority that you can't actually ever quit."

"Gymnastics sorority?"

"It's, like, an analogy?" Lauren rolls her eyes. "Can I finish? Thank you." More eye rolling. "Whatever the reason, I don't want to see you humiliate yourself on floor."

Payson releases a silent laugh, twisting round again to lean against the sink, arms folded. "Good to know."

"So," Lauren says, mirroring Payson's position, "why has RoboPayson suddenly turned into Doesn't Look Like She Even Wants To Be Here Payson?"

Trust Lauren to phrase the issue in a way that annoyingly makes sense.

"It's just, it's been a strange day." Payson has no intention of confiding anything about Sasha. She has no idea how much he has to do with it anyway. "I was feeling...off."

Lauren is fiddling with her new silver medal. "Was feeling _off_? Meaning you're now feeling _on_? Is this you admitting you literally are RoboPayson?"

Payson snorts a laugh. She can feel her shoulders sliding down her back, gravity suddenly not so heavy.

"You should get one of those portable charger things. Plug yourself in when you need a boost."

"I think that's called electric shock treatment, Lo."

Lauren shrugs, buffing her medal with her sleeve. "Whatever works for you."

The bathroom door opens. For a second, Payson thinks it's Kelly.

"OMG, you let Parker do your hair, didn't you?" Lauren wrinkles her nose as Beth bounces into the room.

"Isn't it rad?" Beth fluffs at her twin buns.

"Rad?" Lauren says, with such disdain that Payson laughs out loud.

"They look very rad." Payson pokes a couple of stray hairs back under pins. Beth's hair isn't really long enough for this style, so the buns resemble a pair of curled up baby hedgehogs.

"Okay, I'm leaving," Lauren announces, arranging her medal so it sits perfectly central on her white team sweater. "Payson, try not to fall on your face again and embarrass the team. Beth." Lauren spins round and looks Beth up and down. Beth gives her a full tooth grin. "Try not to embarrass the team more than is obviously unavoidable."

"Will do. I mean, will don't." Beth frowns. "Or do I mean will do?"

"I need to go talk to normal people." Lauren is in the act of theatrically flouncing out as Payson calls her name.

"Lo?"

"What?"

Payson steps across the room. "Tell Marty you want to strip back your routine, polish the basics then build up on difficulty. You do what you did today with decent execution, you'll blow everyone out the water in London."

Lauren drops her exaggerated character and eyes Payson with scepticism. "You mean in the team competition, right?"

"I mean in every competition."

Individual beam gold is not in Payson's sights in London, but if Lauren focuses, it could be in hers.

"Anything else?" Lauren asks, still wary.

Payson's mind has cleared sufficiently that she can finally think. "Where Austin trains is up to him. Keep the focus on yourself."

Lauren seems about to launch into a trademark rant but maybe the medal round her neck is giving a weight of new perspective. "How about we just trade abusive texts?"

"Sounds good. Just not during…"

"Not during training, I know!" Lauren flashes Payson a real smile as she pushes through the door.

"Bye!" Beth calls, waving even through the door has swung shut again.

Payson sucks in a deep breath. She could do with getting some fresh air but she estimates there's only about forty five minutes before the final starts. She glances at the sink. Water will have to do.

Twisting the faucet to full, Payson waits for it to run cold then dips toward the sink and splashes water all over her face. It feels so good, she does it twice more. When she stands up straight, drops flicker down her chin, her neck, drip from her still perfectly slicked back hair.

"You didn't wear waterproof, did you?" Beth hands her a stack of paper towels. "I like it."

Payson looks in the mirror. Mascara and eyeliner are smudged at least an inch below each eye. Again, she imagines Sasha standing over her shoulder, but this time her grin matches his.

* * *

" _We'll always be together, however far it seems. We'll always be together, together in electric dreams_." Payson only realises she's singing under her breath when Beth, waiting in the corridor beside her, makes a joyful exclamation.

"I love that song!"

"You _know_ that song?"

Beth nods vigorously, bunches bobbing. "My dad's a big fan of the synthesizer. Says it's a much maligned instrument."

Payson does her best to look serious. "Okay."

"Are you a synthesizer fan?"

"Huh? Oh, you mean 'cause I know that song."

More nodding.

"I had a crash course in electro pop last night." Payson feels a goofy grin creeping up her cheeks, but it's so nice to actually feel something today that she doesn't try and fight it.

Before Beth can ask where she can sign up for such a course, the floor finalists are called to attention and escorted out into the arena. As she did this morning, Payson allows her experience of the past week to carry her through the formalities of being announced.

After patching up her makeup, Payson had been able to complete a full warm up and run through her tumbling passes. Her skin is still warm, her muscles supple and primed. She has not bothered to put on a jacket for the line up because she is scheduled to perform first.

"You got this?" Marty greets her as she and Beth jog over from the podium.

The only difference from when he asked the same question a few hours ago is the resolute confidence in his eyes. That he has not once today asked her what was wrong, not once bought attention to an emotional state that was confusing enough without being forced to answer questions about it, suddenly registers.

Pushing to her toes, Payson kisses his cheek.

"That is definitely not your shade." She grins at Marty's flummoxed expression and thumbs the lipstick mark off his skin.

"And I'm glad you picked now to tell me." Marty jerks his head toward a nearby TV camera. "Now, go get 'em Keeler." There's excitement in his determination.

"Let's go, Pay!" Beth shouts. She's sitting beside Chris, wearing her full tracksuit since she will perform last.

Payson gives her a double thumbs up, nods at Marty, then pushes them both from her mind. The crowd noise, exuberant for the blue ribbon event of the women's competition, starts to diminish. The clatter from the media section, the shuffling at the judges table, the reverberations from the sound system, it all fades away.

As she slaps chalk on her hands and feet, waiting at the side of the twelve by twelve foot floor, Payson hears nothing but her own heartbeat and the words Sasha spoke last night when they said goodbye.

" _Remember, sweetheart, you've got nothing to prove, and everything to be proud of."_

There's no disassociation this time, no fight between focus and presence. Striding to the middle of the mat and taking up her start position, Payson is fully in the moment.

With the opening chords of Swan Lake, Payson rises, allowing her body the freedom to sing with the music. Her leaps become accents for Tchaikovsky's notes, her turns teeter on the very edge of each phrase, stretching every graceful second. There is no anxiety in going into her tumble passes, just anticipation at feeling the release of flight.

She imagines that with every twist, with every jump, she is snapping the braces and splints that once constrained her. As she spins in the air, she recalls being strapped to a bed by drips and tubes, and her gratitude that she has been given the gift of a second chance drives her higher.

Her feet do not once misstep, her arms do not waver. From fingernail to toe tip she is alive and rejoicing. When the orchestra surges for the final chord, she stretches out over a lead leg, laying her body to the mat, wondering how ninety seconds can feel like a lifetime.

In the tiny break between the end of the music and the burst of cheering, reality rushes in. Gravity is suddenly heavy, almost overwhelmingly so. It's a struggle to rise to her feet, impossible to offer more than a cursory wave to the deafening spectators.

She hadn't realised how much energy she'd expended. Caught in the moment, she budgeted nothing, and, after making it back to the edge of the mat, all she can do is collapse against Marty, let him hold her weight while she tries to breathe.

"That was amazing," Marty is saying.

Payson can't thank him. Her heart is pumping so hard it's vibrating her vision. Talking is beyond her right now.

Acid suddenly streaks down both calves. Payson's grip on Marty's jacket tightens.

"Okay, stretching time," Marty mutters.

Allowing Payson the appearance of looking as if she's leaving the podium by her own steam, the arm Marty has round her waist takes most of her weight as they walk together down the steps.

"Drink." Marty shoves a water bottle in her hand as Payson sinks to the carpet beside the chairs. She takes a few sips, counting off her breaths.

Bending over the legs she has stretched straight out in front of her, Marty provides further resistance by pushing hard to the soles of her feet. After a few cycles of tension and release, Payson feels the pain locking her muscles solid start to ease.

"So that's what they mean when they say 'leave it all out on the mat'," Payson manages to say, though she's still catching her breath.

There's a sudden surge of fresh cheering.

"Holy sh…" Marty just manages to catch the swear word before the second syllable, which is fortunate as two cameras are directed at them. "15.4, Pay! You got 15.4!" He points a shaking finger over her shoulder.

Payson's neck clicks as she twists to read the scoreboard.

 **1\. KEELER, P. (USA) 15.400**

Payson's jaw falls open. That's point four more than she scored in either the team or all around final. Her d-score hasn't changed so her execution must have been near perfect to reach 15.4.

"Bloody hell!" She turns an incredulous face to Marty, who, still on the floor, tips forward onto his knees so he can pull her into a hug.

"You're spending way too much time with Sasha!" He laughs.

"Yes yes yes!" Beth lands on Payson's back, nearly headbutting Marty over her shoulder.

Extricating himself from his gymnast's grip, Marty stands, offering both his hands for Payson to lever herself up with. Beth keeps her arms locked round Payson's neck, shifting from kneeling to standing on the chair as Payson rises.

"Okay, everybody breathe. There's still a long way to go. Toto, back to your index cards." Marty makes a shooing motion at Beth.

"You were a-ma-zing!" Beth makes each syllable of her congratulation the same length, then does as she's told, though she walks across the three empty chairs back to her index cards rather than step down to the carpet.

Payson starts to say thank you, but she stood up too quick. Blood rushes to her head and she sways, vision blurring.

"Sitting down, sitting down is good," she mumbles, as Marty catches her elbow and helps lower onto a chair. Luckily, Genghi Cho has already started her routine, so the spectators and media outlets are too distracted to notice.

Closing her eyes, Payson turns all her focus inward. She concentrates on letting air reach right to the bottom of each lung, on lowering her heart rate with steady breathing, on giving her body the time to return to its equilibrium.

When she knows her blood pressure is no longer sky high, and her pulse is back to normal, she opens her eyes again and looks at the scoreboard.

 **1\. KEELER, P. (USA) 15.400**

 **2\. CHO, G. (CHN) 15.000**

"Don't worry," Marty says, when Payson jumps to her feet, alarmed at seemingly ignoring her rival. "The score's only just come in."

The Chinese are stationed at the other end of the row of chairs, and Payson is supremely glad when Cho meets her halfway to exchange the expected congratulatory hug. Her aerobic system may have returned to normal, but her muscles feel like lead.

Returning to her seat, Payson uses up some of the wait time by retrieving her jacket and pants from her backpack and suiting up. She then wastes some more time by tying perhaps the neatest double bow she's ever done with each shoelace.

Nerves are now prickling in her stomach. They grow as she claps Willow Taylor's 14.425. Four gymnasts to go. When it's three, Elena Coman putting in a 14.375, Payson crooks her legs into long frog so she can turn her face toward the carpet and avoid the constantly circling camera.

15.400 is the best she's ever scored with her Swan Lake routine. She will be proud whatever place she finishes in. At least that's what the rational voice in her head is trying to tell her.

"Wow," she hears Marty exclaim as Chloe Moore finishes. As usual, Payson didn't watch the routine but she can tell by the level of applause it was good. When the Brit jogs passed, Payson gives her a high five.

"How wow?" she murmurs up at Marty, hiding her words behind her hand.

"Not wow enough," Marty assures, and Payson's throat unclenches a little.

With Ivanka not competing, Cho is Payson's biggest competition. The Chinese gymnast has already posted her contribution of 15 flat. On paper, no one can touch Payson.

"Chloe Moore...14.850!" The announcer blares.

Payson claps, not knowing what expression is on her face.

There are two gymnasts left. As Romy Beck takes to the mat, Payson directs her attention to Beth.

"You good to go?" Payson pretends to squeeze Beth's bunches.

"Yup," Beth says, bouncing up and down on her toes. "Reece printed this out for me yesterday." She holds up her index cards. A picture of Drea wearing Beth's Yankee hat has been added to the carabiner.

"Never doubt the lucky cap." Payson gives Beth a quick hug then backs away to allow the younger girl the space to prepare.

When the German salutes the judges to mark the end of her routine, Marty leads Beth over to the podium.

"Let's go, Beth! You got this!" Payson hollers.

Romy Beck's score comes in quickly. Payson fights down the pulse of nerves and excitement as she looks at the leaderboard.

 **1\. KEELER, P. (USA) 15.400**

 **2\. GENGHI, C. (CHN) 15.000**

 **3\. MOORE, C. (GBR) 14.850**

 **4\. BECK, R. (GER) 14.600**

 **5\. TAYLOR, W. (AUS) 14.425**

 **6\. COMAN, E. (ROU) 14.375**

One gymnast to go and Payson leads. She will have at least a silver. She refuses to consider Beth's d-score.

Beth's floor routine is frenetic from start to finish, the four foot ten gymnast pinging all over the mat. She puts so much energy into all her tumbles that her landings are a little out of control and covered by switching quickly into leaps. She has got so much potential and Payson is too busy imagining the high quality of a routine Beth can produce once Sasha is training her, to consider that Beth's e-score will not be high enough to challenge Payson's lead.

A little hop on her double pike dismount and Beth ends her routine with a beaming smile. She double hand waves for the delighted crowd then practically sprints off the mat and jumps down from the podium, skipping the steps entirely.

"That was awesome!" Payson ignores her fatigue stinging muscles and lifts Beth up in a tight hug.

"That was fun!" Beth beams.

When Beth has jumped down and embraced Chris, Payson allows the situation to finally hit her. She clenches her fists to try and stop the shaking in her arms.

Marty is holding back from celebrating, partly because it's a fellow American who has yet to be scored, partly because he knows Payson never acknowledges she has won until she sees the final scoreboard.

Payson suddenly misses Sasha so much she can't breathe. She wants him beside her, wants him here to share this moment. She glances at the crowd but realises she has no idea where her mom is sitting.

The leaderboard flickers, glitches, then - after several frustrated yells from the baying crowd - finally updates.

 **1\. KEELER, P. (USA) 15.400**

 **2\. GENGHI, C. (CHN) 15.000**

 **3\. MOORE, C. (GBR) 14.850**

 **4\. DEAN, B. (USA) 14.700**

 **5\. BECK, R. (GER) 14.600**

 **6\. TAYLOR, W. (AUS) 14.425**

 **7\. COMAN, E. (ROU) 14.375**

Payson stares, not quite believing, keeps staring when Marty throws his arms in the air and bellows with triumph, when Beth jumps up onto a chair and hugs Payson from behind.

Looking around, Payson opens her mouth, but she has no words, no sounds. Her mouth is still open as she accepts handshakes from the other gymnasts. She knows she should be congratulating Cho and Chloe Moore, but, if they've won silver and bronze, that means she's won gold and…

"I won gold," she murmurs.

Beth is still standing on the chair. "You won gold," she repeats, smile so wide her eyes are crinkled.

Temporarily of equal height, Payson and Beth look at each other.

"I won gold," Payson says again.

"You won gold!"

"At Worlds. I won gold at Worlds. I'm World Champion."

"Yup!"

Pure adrenaline suddenly surges through every nerve. Payson, realising she is jumping up and down on the spot, grabs Beth hands, "Not to sound like Lauren, but, OH MY GOD!"

"I know!" Beth sings, jumping up and down on the chair.

Laughter and relief and pride bubble out of Payson. She doesn't care that chaos descends with the influx of photographers demanding pictures and officials demanding Beth stop breaking the furniture, or that she's swept along in a convoy of flags and tears and ends up in the backstage corridor without really registering she's left the arena.

Bemused, exhausted, exhilarated, Payson leans against the wall as the pre-medal ceremony ruckus gets underway again. Austin appears from nowhere with a high five and an energy drink that he makes her down.

"I let you pass out on the rostrum and MJ will kill me." He gives her his usual rakish wink and vanishes.

"How do you know MJ?" Payson either yells or intends to yell but doesn't have the opportunity because the medal procession starts moving.

When watching the ceremony back on TV, Payson will concede the smile on her face as she strides toward the podium and waits in line to be awarded the medal holds more than just a hint of a caffeine buzz. But it's certainly better than the alternative of falling asleep on the rostrum and crushing Genghi Cho.

Her audio memory will fail her entirely because Payson will have no recollection of her name being announced, or what the dignitary said to her as he slipped the medal ribbon over her neck, or the crowd being asked to rise for the national anthem, or of the Star Spangled Banner itself.

What Payson will have - and will treasure - are a series of images. The reflection of a camera flash the first time she looks down at the gold medal nestling against her jacket. The steady rise of the Stars and Stripes into the rafters. The sight of the etched gold in her peripheral vision as she holds it up for the photographers.

The much needed post-event massage and less needed but contractually required media interviews fade into a blur. Payson falls back on her athletic training and just does as she's told. She trusts Mandy to sort her muscles and MJ to keep her from saying anything inappropriate to the press.

In the mini bus on the way back to the hotel, while Beth teaches Lauren about the importance of the synthesizer in 80s music, and Lauren - distracted by her silver medal - refrains from pitching Beth out the back window, Payson finally has the opportunity to check her phone.

Becca has sent a video. It's ten seconds of incoherent cheering from her, their dad, and Phoebe.

Her mother has sent a long line of xoxos and a note that she intends to invest in shares in a waterproof cosmetics company.

There are 'oh my god, congratulations!' texts from Kaylie and Hayley, a similar one from Natalie with the addition of 'hope this is still your number', and a shy 'you were amazing' from Drea.

Payson is startled when she sees Emily's name as next in her inbox. She swallows as she clicks open.

 _Always knew you could do it. Give me a call when you get home. BTW (as Lauren would say) it's a girl :) xo_

Tears fill Payson's eyes. She looks out the window until she can get her emotions back under control.

There is no message from Sasha yet. His flight won't land for another few hours.

* * *

"Ssssh! You'll wake her up."

"Toto, life lesson for you. A popping champagne cork is the best way to be woken up. Well, nearly the best, but i'll tell you about that when you're older."

Voices swim into Payson's consciousness.

"Kelly, you're underage and you're on medication."

"I'm legal in Europe and they're not antibiotics."

"No."

"Please, Mrs Keeler."

"Fine. One sip. Sip not gulp, Kelly!"

Payson sighs deep, letting the dregs of sleep ebb away.

"Is she awake?"

"Open your eyes, Keeler. There's champagne."

"So I heard," Payson says, easing her eyes open and indulging a full body stretch.

Kelly, sitting upright in the other bed, wine flute between her fingers, arches an eyebrow. "Not very rock and roll, falling asleep the moment you get back from winning a gold medal."

Payson groans happily round another stretch. She swings her legs off the bed and sits up. Someone, probably her mom, has draped a comforter over her.

"Took off your shoes but thought i'd leave that on." Kim, perched on the edge of the desk, smiles, as Payson unconsciously reaches for the medal still round her neck. "Think I can get that hug now?"

"I thought I hugged you before," Payson says, standing slowly.

"You kind of fell through the door and landed on me. It doesn't really count," Kim says, opening her arms. Payson, still dopey, snuggles into her shoulder. "I'm so proud of you I can't even find the words," she whispers into Payson's ear.

Payson smiles, kisses her mom's cheek, then twists away, hauling herself up on the desk to sit next to her mother.

"Were we supposed to get strippers?" Beth, cross-legged on the floor beside the balcony, queries.

"And we have a new winner in the category of 'most random things Bethany Dean has ever said'," Kelly drawls, taking another gulp of champagne before MJ, attention not straying from her illuminated cell screen, swipes the glass away.

"Hey!"

"Kim said one sip. You want to argue with her?"

Kelly doesn't reply.

"I thought not. Beth? Why strippers?"

Beth looks between MJ and Kelly. "Kelly said falling asleep after winning a gold medal wasn't very rock and roll. Strippers are rock and roll right?"

MJ glances up from her phone. She smirks at Kim. "You want to take this one?"

Kim busies herself with her half empty wine flute. "Sorry, MJ. Temporary hearing loss. What did you say?"

MJ continues to smirk. "Nice save."

The nap hasn't eradicated Payson's fatigue, but it's made it less intense. She watches the gloaming sky while the others chatter.

"You can add to the pile if you want." Beth, kneeling up next to Kelly's bed, points at a pile of metal and ribbon on the end of the mattress.

"Bloody hell," Payson says, a little stunned at the sight of so many medals.

"That was my reaction," MJ says, refilling her and Kim's glasses from the bottle of Moet.

"Three team bronzes and two bars bronzes." Beth hangs five ribbons on one wrist. "One all-around silver and one vault silver." Two ribbons are slung over the other wrist. "One vault gold." Beth picks up the final ribbon with her teeth. "And one floor gold," she mumbles, nodding toward Payson.

"Not a bad tally," MJ says, beatific smile belying the blase tone of her words.

"You're already planning photoshoots, aren't you?" Kim says, taking some of the medals from Beth so she can look at the details.

"Once we get Kelly's ankle healed and Sasha's head fixed, I recommend that you all stock up on teeth whitening toothpaste." MJ's phone rings. She raises her usual 'got to take this' finger and goes out on the balcony.

Payson starts. How had she forgotten? "Sasha." She jumps up. "Where's my phone? What time is it? Has he landed?"

"Calm down, Pay." Kim squeezes Payson's arm and encourages her to sit again. "His connecting flight to Denver has been delayed. He spoke to MJ while you were asleep. He called her when you didn't answer and he said to let you sleep," Kim says, over Payson's objections to not being woken. "He'll text you when he gets to Denver. But we're three hours ahead of them so it may be late."

"Okay," Payson agrees, not voicing her intention to call Sasha back the second he texts, no matter how late it gets.

"Hey, Toto," Kelly calls, reclining back on her pillows. "Tell Keeler what you worked out earlier."

Beth, lining up the medals along the end of Kelly's mattress, thinks for a moment. "You mean that we should have ordered strippers?"

Kelly's right eye twitches. "No. I mean the other thing you worked out. About her scores," Kelly snaps, patience evaporating as Beth continues to look at her blankly.

"Oh that," Beth grins. She shuffles round on her knees to look at Payson. "The scores you posted in the four event finals combined to give a tally of 61.750. Ivanka's winning score in the all-around was 61.200. On the same apparatus, you beat her by 0.550"

"Now will you admit that she totally played chicken today?" Kelly asks.

Payson ignores her roommate's smug expression. Her event tally may have beaten Ivanka's gold winning score, but that was over two days rather than one. Still, Payson's d-scores will be upgraded by London and, with more preparation time and hopefully less distraction during competition, her execution scores should also improve.

If she can technically best the World Champion while doing easier routines, only a few months on from back surgery, and with so much drama off the mat it feels like they've been in Rio a year, there's no question that she can do it at the Olympics.

"There a glass of that for me?" Payson nudges her mom.

"I don't think one could hurt." Kim winks and fetches a fresh glass.

"Cheers!" The Keelers clink their glasses together as Kelly gapes in indignation.

"Rock and roll, Parker," Payson grins.

* * *

The bathroom light, linked to the extractor fan system, hums loudly, but Kelly's sleep is once again medicinally aided so Payson has no concerns of waking her.

It's so late it's early. Payson had dozed again after a celebratory meal provided by room service and MJ, then woken around midnight. There was still no message from Sasha. Not wanting to miss his text, she'd decided now would be a good opportunity to take some of the photos she'd promised Becca.

Beth had reminded Payson of it when she showed off her collection of pictures taken throughout the championship over dinner. When Payson had explained about Becca's plan to do a series of instagrams about the championships, Beth had been eager to get involved, asking for Becca's email address so she could forward her pictures, and then helping Payson come up with ideas of shots to take.

Payson is pleased with the selection she's gathered. Leotards, various combinations of medals laying on jackets, ID lanyards, tickets and programmes, hotel brochures, cosmetics, hair ribbons. She tried taking a photo of Rio's nightscape but it hadn't translated well, looking instead like she'd left her thumb over the lens. She also tried an arty selfie in the mirror and nearly blinded herself with the flash. One shot that had actually turned out as intended was a close up of Kelly's support booted ankle with her bars bronze medal draped over the toes.

Now, Payson's using the plain white backdrop of the built in bathtub to photograph Bear with various medals and her heart necklace. She still can't believe that the nine medals lying on the tiles are real. How many times has she worn Sasha's Olympic gold and dreamed of the day she would have a major championship medal of her own?

She's arranging her bars bronze, vault silver, and floor gold, in a row - a photo requested by MJ because apparently the press love a full house - when the text arrives. The beep is so loud in the small room that she almost drops her phone.

 _You should be asleep, which means you're probably not_

Grinning, Payson cues up Sasha's number and clicks the call emblem.

He answers immediately. "Definitely not asleep, then."

Payson grins wider, settling back against the sink unit. "Don't tell gold medalists what they should and shouldn't do, Belov."

Though she knows it's not possible, Payson thinks she can hear the smile in Sasha's voice when he says, "I'll remember that."

Payson pulls her knees to her chest, thinking of last night when she was sitting with him on the beach. "Where are you?"

"Generally? I'm in Denver."

Payson rolls her eyes. "And specifically?"

"Sitting in a car park."

"In a car?"

"No, on a bench."

Payson frowns. "Sasha it's" - she glances at her phone and does some quick calculations - "1am there. You must be freezing."

"Great thing about Denver airport, you can buy a fleece that I swear is warmer than my first flat."

Wishing she could reach down the phone and hug him, Payson coughs to clear the sudden lump in her throat.

"So any particular parking lot or did you just choose one at random?"

There's a noticeable pause. When Sasha speaks, something of the fatigue he must be feeling after a thirteen hour flight and countless delays creeps into his voice. "Treatment centre."

Payson briefly closes her eyes. "When they said you had to be there Monday morning, I don't think they meant this early."

"I'm a stickler for punctuality." He's trying to be jovial. She tries too.

"Not your own punctuality, you're not."

"Fair point."

The bulb light glinting off a gold medal starts to blur. Payson wipes her eyes but refuses to sniff.

"So why are you sitting in a freezing parking lot at one in the morning?"

Sasha's voice fades a little. Payson imagines he is hanging his head back and looking at the clear Colorado sky. "No temptation in a parking lot. Unless I develop a sudden desire to nick a car."

"Sasha…"

"I'm okay." Sasha's reassurance is too immediate and too sharp for it to be the truth.

Payson waits, wondering how she knows, even from nearly six thousand miles, that he needs a moment to gather himself. When he speaks again, he's calmer.

"It just seems a shame to come all this way to be undone by an airport bar, or a pub opposite a motel. Besides, fresh air is good for the constitution."

Payson has a sudden flash of Sasha - exhausted, injured, and emotionally broken - staring at the coloured glass frontage of some rundown bar. Where she sees the strength it must have taken for him to fight off the addictive voice in his head telling him to go inside, he will see weakness in the necessity of having to fight that hard, so she pushes the image away without comment.

"Promise me there won't be an item on Good Morning Denver tomorrow with police finding a man shaped popsicle frozen to a bench." Payson picks up Bear and props the teddy on her knees.

"Facility's got a twenty four hour reception - I'm sure I can charm my way in and have a kip in the waiting room."

"You're not that charming, Belov.

Silence should not be enough to send her stomach twirling.

"Shut up," Payson fights a smile.

Again, though she has know idea how, Payson can tell Sasha is grinning in that infuriating yet irresistible way she usually meets with a kiss.

"You'll be happy to know I've had Electric Dreams stuck in my head all day." Payson decides to redirect the conversation before it continues to drift into dangerous territory. "Also, Beth is a fan."

"Why doesn't that surprise me." Sasha's voice is a little tight and Payson knows he's having to pull himself back under control too.

"I'm a little scared to find out what song she wants to do her floor routine to next season."

Payson will be so glad when she and Sasha can finally be in the same room, both in perfect health, with no time pressure of competition or chance of being interrupted. A room with a bed in it would be preferable but right now she'd be fine with any hard surface.

"I suspect we won't have a problem with another gymnast having the same song."

"We just have to make sure Kelly doesn't introduce her to Kpop."

"What the hell is Kpop?"

"Nevermind."

"How is Kelly?" Sasha becomes solemn.

"She's medicated and ordering people about so she's pretty good." Payson tries for flippancy. She knows how worried and guilty she would be if she had to leave Kelly right now; Sasha will be feeling the same.

"How about the others? Lauren must be thrilled."

"She's in love with the her new 'accessory' but kinda pissed it isn't gold. I fear for the judges if she gets within yelling distance."

"Point oh-five, think i'd be pissed too. You sound like you guys worked some stuff out?"

"I think we did. For now anyway. You know me and Lo." She shakes her head, smiling. "So you got a chance to watch the events? I wasn't sure what internet access you'd have."

"Access which was too fond of that damn buffering circle," Sasha says, voice darkening with its usual technology annoyance. "Took me fifteen minutes to watch your beam."

"That one you could've skipped." Payson fiddles with the four leaf clover Bear is holding. Though she knows there were extenuating circumstances, she can't help but feel a little embarrassed at her performance this morning.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" It's Sasha's coaching voice. It allows Payson the distance she needs to consider the situation professionally.

"We will need to talk about it, but not tonight."

"You're okay?" This time, Sasha is attempting and failing to use is coaching voice.

"I'm okay. I promise."

There's a few moment's silence.

"Are you okay?" Payson ventures, and immediately regrets the question. "I mean, of course you're not okay. You're sitting in a freezing parking lot in the middle of the night about to check into rehab and, this is so not helping, is it?" She winces, heel of her hand against her forehead.

"No, keep going," Sasha is chuckling. "I want to see where you end up."

"What I meant to ask," Payson says, talking over him, "is how are you feeling about everything?"

"Well," Sasha takes a deep sigh. "I know the next few weeks are going to be painful, and emasculating, and I'll probably cry my way through a couple of boxes of kleenex but, hey, I get my meals cooked for me."

Payson huffs a laugh. "Always seeing the bright side, Belov. But the serious answer is?"

"I hate what's happening, but I know this is where I need to be. My mum would tell me that, and so would Nikolai. They're pretty good barometers."

"They are," Payson agrees.

Though she could happily talk all night, Payson feels the conversation is coming to a natural conclusion. She has to dab at her eyes again.

"When do you think you'll be able to call me again?"

Sasha's sigh is almost inaudible, but Payson catches it. He knows they have to say goodbye soon, too.

"I'm not a flight risk, and I'm not highly dependent so I expect prohibitions on outside contact won't be as strict. I'll say I need to email to let my family know what's going on. Not that…" He draws up sharply.

"No," Payson interjects. "Tell them you need to let your family know."

There's a long pause.

"I don't want you to feel any obligation here, Payson."

"I don't feel obligated." Payson tries to infuse her voice with the same certainty she feels in her heart. "I love you, Sasha. And I will wait for you as long as it takes. Unconditionally. That's what family is, right?"

There's some noise down the line. It could be static, but Payson suspects Sasha is trying to stop his tears from being audible. It's what she's doing.

"Right." The words trembles. Sasha coughs once, twice. When he comes on the line again, his voice is as clear as if he were sitting next to her. "I love you, Payson. Unconditionally."

Hot tears slide down Payson's cheeks. "Would it be totally rude if I hang up on you? 'Cause I honestly don't think I can say the 'g' word."

There's a wet chuckle and a sniff at the other end of the phone. "You could borrow Lauren's phrase and just say 'bee-tee-dub lates'?"

Payson's laughter echoes off the tiles but more tears follow and it turns into a sob. "I love you."

"I love you." Three syllables of Sasha's shaking voice, a gulped pause, and the line goes dead.

Throat closing around an anguished cry, Payson doesn't bother to fight. Contorted with wracking sobs she falls onto her side, phone pitching from her grasp and sliding across the floor. She lets the pain win, lets the guilt and the anger and the frustration and the loneliness crash through her body. She tries to slam a clenched fist against the tile, but her strength is gone.

She realises that, for the second day in a row, she's curled up on the bathroom floor crying over a boy. That recognition doesn't stop her sobs, but humour creeps in somewhere, a touch of self-deprecation, which at least makes the pain less crippling.

When she's again able to lift her hands to scrub her hot, stinging eyes, she spots Bear, lying on the floor and looking at her. She must be sleep deprived, because Payson thinks the glare is reminiscent of Kelly.

"Don't judge," she mumbles, pushing herself back to sitting, sweat wet palms against cool ceramic. "And I'm talking to a teddy bear." She sighs a laugh, leaning back against the sink unit, picking up the stuffed animal and fussing with its fur.

The loud text beep makes her bang her head and drop the teddy.

"Sorry," Payson apologises automatically as she reaches across the floor to retrieve her phone.

 _A nurse coming outside for a smoke took pity on me. She's gonna check me in. Got to turn my phone off. Love you xx_

Payson takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. If Sasha's now under the care of medical practitioners it means he's safe.

Tears pierce her eyes again, but this time they are of relief rather than pain.

"He's safe," she repeats aloud, finally acknowledging how scared she's been the past twenty four hours.

She knows her reply won't get through immediately, but Payson sends it anyway, so Sasha will have it waiting for him when he's allowed to turn his phone on again.

 _Better be behaving yourself Belov. #togetherinelectricdreams_

She hopes it makes him laugh.

* * *

Mauve tints the faintly visibly horizon line. Payson watches the burgeoning dawn, hands clasped round a coffee mug. She's curled up on a balcony chair, snuggled into Sasha's grey hoodie.

The championships is over, the team flies home this afternoon. Payson has spent the past half hour on a to-do list that already spans two pages of the notebook Kelly keeps threatening to burn. Some might feel overwhelmed seeing how much needs to be done in the next few days and weeks, but, as always, Payson is reassured by the organised simplicity.

 _Tell dad about me and Sasha_ , seems a lot less scary with a number and a checkbox starting and ending it.

Payson sips her coffee, enjoys the steam peppering her cheeks.

This is a bubble in time, a pause before her life moves off again, at an even faster clip.

She tells herself it's logical for her to be sitting here, ruminating over the past few months, that it's a way of clearing space in her mind, that it is not her self-indulgently wasting time thinking about Sasha. She takes another sip of coffee, slightly guilty smile pressing on the rim of the mug. She's a world champion, surely that buys her a few minutes of remembering how it felt to dance through a storm or how it felt to kiss Sasha for the first time in the midst of a shadowed crowd.

The swooping seagulls break into a chorus of squawked chatter. Payson imagines how Phoebe would be barking as loud as she could in response if the little dog were here.

A wind gust swirls her loose hair. Payson relishes it's warmth. Colorado air will be laced with cold by now.

Yellow is infusing the mauve horizon. The sun can't be far away. Payson makes a deal with herself that once the orange arc appears, she will start on the first item of her to-do list - _finish packing before Kelly wakes up._

Until then, she will sit peacefully on this Rio balcony, and watch the sky.

 _Fin_

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has followed this story. At this time, I have no plans to write a full sequel, but I might do some one shots to catch up with what happens when they get back to Colorado. Thank you for reading x**


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